Puzzle Pieces
by lourdesmont
Summary: This is a story about the puzzle pieces that make up the lives of characters from Phantom of the Opera. It is a story about how past, present and future all effect each other, fitting together like puzzle pieces, to make a life complete.
1. Chapter 1

_Puzzle Pieces_

Life is like a puzzle - full of tiny pieces that we must fit together to create the life we live. Unfortunately, as with any puzzle, there will always be the little pieces that fall off the table and are lost. They are the little pieces we often wish we could do without - fear, doubt, anger, regret, any and all of the negative emotions that pull us down, sabotaging our better instincts. These are the lost pieces for which we search and search until we find them, twisting and turning them until they fit into our lives. We must make these pieces fit into the puzzles of our own lives for we would be incomplete without them for there cannot be light without dark, sad without happy, joy without sorrow.

This is a story about the puzzle pieces that make up the lives of characters from "Phantom of the Opera". This is a story about fear and longing, insecurity and mistrust, love and regret, betrayal and misplaced loyalties, violence, torture, damp dungeons and explosions. It is a story about how the past, present and future all affect each other. And finally it is a story of chances lost and chances found - the puzzle pieces under the table that are found and lifted up, twisted and turned, fitting together to make a life complete. There will be chapters of this story that contain exceedingly graphic violence and I will give warning for those chapters so you can avert your eyes; I have learned from my own past writing that not everyone can deal with such things. There will also be the "hankie" chapters - warnings given for those, too!

I am playing with the history of this story and keeping Philippe alive; it is important for the story that he remains breathing. The character of Henri has been borrowed with permission from my LiveJournal friend, _musiquephan_; there are not enough words to thank her for letting me have him for this story as his role will be pivotal. All other original characters belong to me and my sick mind and warped sense of imagination. All "Phantom" characters belong to Gaston Leroux. This story is a mixture of Leroux and Weber (mix and match) and both of those nice gentleman have my thanks for their imaginations ... in other words, I own nothing.

Literally.

And - finally - the inspiration for this story came from another LJ person _(shirehobbit2002)_ on the LJ Community - _vicomtelove_ - who wanted "a story where Raoul is tortured".

I thought ... "Hey, I can do that!"

God help us all ...

**Chapter Summary:** _It has been over two years since the events at the opera house and problems are beginning to surface in Raoul and Christine's marriage. Just what is it she is hiding?  
_  
CHAPTER ONE

The elegant coach drove through the gas-lit streets of nighttime Paris ferrying its occupants home after an evening of gourmet food, fine wine and pleasant conversation. The two chestnut brown thoroughbreds moved easily through the still crowded streets, their hooves easily dancing across the cobblestones underfoot. So graceful were their movements that the well-sprung coach almost seemed to be floating through the star-filled evening. The driver sitting atop the coach, reins held lightly in his hands, hummed a lullaby drawn from the far reaches of childhood memories, his dreamy expression illuminated by the two lanterns swaying lightly on either side of the coach. It was a pleasant picture, a picture familiar to cities all across Europe, as the wealthy made their way to their beds after an evening of idle amusement.

None of those thoughts, though, crossed the mind of the driver as he slowed the horses, parking the coach in front of an elegant town home. His gaze was drawn to the side as a man in formal black dress exited the well-lit home, coming down the stairs, opening the coach door. An arm clad in soft grey was held out and the man helped a young woman to exit the coach, not releasing her hand until satin-clad feet had negotiated the curb and were standing firmly on the sidewalk. The woman gave a brief glance over her shoulder as a young man also exited the coach. She did not wait for him to take her arm but moved quickly up the stairs and into the foyer of the town home. The young man released a silent sigh, shaking his head and following the woman into the house.

The young couple stood in the lighted foyer as the butler closed the door behind them. Her maid stood nearby, waiting until the door was closed before removing the long, satin opera cloak the woman wore. The young woman turned, pulling off her gloves, handing them to her maid.

"Is there anything else, madame?" the young maid wanted to know.

"No," the woman replied with a shake of her head. "If you would just be so kind as to put those away and prepare a bath." She turned to look at the man standing next to her. "I shall be up shortly."

The maid dropped a small curtsey. "Certainly, madame, it shall be done as you wish." The young woman disappeared down a long hall, heading toward the back of the town home and the back stairs; she would not have thought of climbing the elegant, marble staircase in the front of the house. That was only for the Vicomte, his wife, their family and friends.

"There is brandy in the parlor," the butler was saying as he removed the young man's cloak, taking the top hat into which soft, kidskin gloves had been deposited. He turned to look at the young woman. "I did not wish to have tea sent for in case it should be cold when you returned. Shall I do that now?"

The young woman shook her head. "No, thank you," she said.

"Shall there be anything else?" the butler asked returning his attention to the young man in front of him.

"I do not believe so," Raoul told him. "Just close up for the evening and we shall see you in the morning."

The butler bowed. "Very well, sir." And disappeared down the same hall as the maid.

Raoul turned to look at his wife. "Shall we?" he wondered and held his breath for the answer.

"Why not?" Christine replied softly, once again not waiting for her husband but walking off ahead of him.

Raoul stood for a moment and watched his wife's back and wondered what he had done wrong.

It had been more than two years since that night at the Opera Populaire - the night when Christine had been forced into a playing out a role he had thought would free her from the nightmare into which she had been bound. Then everything he had planned had gone wrong. He had grossly underestimated his rival. He had watched as the woman he loved disappeared into the underbelly of the opera house. He had watched as the chandelier crashed, setting the opera house on fire. He had done the only thing he knew how to do, he had followed Christine into the depths of that place, into the very domain of his rival. It was a foolish thing to do; he knew that; yet he also knew that he would never abandon Christine to the darkness. It had been a foolish thing to do for - once again - his well-intentioned actions had forced the woman he loved into an untenable position - to choose between her freedom and his life. And she had chosen, miraculously earning both freedom and life.

They had left the opera house that night, with a backward glance from Christine. Raoul had known she had looked back but he buried that knowledge in a dark recess of his own mind. She had not had to leave with him, he thought at that moment, she could have stayed with her Phantom. Christine could have just told him to leave and he would have. He would not have liked it but he would have done as she asked for - ultimately - all he had ever wanted was her happiness. And they had been happy. They had just celebrated their second wedding anniversary but two months previously and those two years had been good years. They were years in which the newlyweds had discovered each other, learning about the mind, heart and soul of the person with whom they would be spending the rest of their life. Raoul knew he would never have all of his wife yet in those most private moments when she clung to him, whispering his name as she quivered in his arms, he was the most content, happiest man in the world.

Now, watching as his wife opened the door to the parlor without even a backward glance to see if he followed, Raoul wondered what had gone so wrong in the last two weeks to change his bright, sunny wife into a distant stranger. He searched his mind trying to remember something, anything, that he might have done to cause Christine to distance herself and could find no answer. There had been nothing Raoul could remember doing that would upset Christine to the point where she would not even speak to him of it. He had always given her everything she had wanted, denying her nothing - not even the occasional stop in front of the ruined opera house. He knew she grieved the loss of the man who had been her teacher, her friend, the other love of her life. But even those visits had grown further and further apart just as her nightmares had grown further and further apart. Raoul thought Christine had finally put the past behind herself and then he wondered if he had thought wrongly. Raoul shook his head to clear it of depressing thoughts and followed his wife into the parlor.

Christine stood in front of the fireplace, her hands reaching toward the warmth of the small fire that burned within. Raoul watched as she took her hands back, wrapping them about her waist. Her head turned to look out the window as a sound from the early April evening floated past the glass draped in pink brocade. The look on her face was distant and concerned but she quickly covered it as he entered the room. She moved to sit on the edge of an overstuffed chaise, her back held stiff and straight.

Raoul moved to the hutch where a decanter of amber liquid and two snifters sat upon a silver tray. He unstoppered the decanter, lifting it up before turning to look at his wife. "Would you ..." He started to ask.

"Just water," Christine quickly interjected.

"I could send for tea," Raoul tried.

"Water, Raoul, just water," Christine replied as she placed two fingers to rub the skin between finely arched eyebrows.

"You have a headache," Raoul said as he handed her the snifter full of water. "I should not have kept you out so late. I am sorry."

"Thank you," Christine said as she took the glass and sipped from it. "I had a very nice time tonight. You know how much I love to see Meg and Valery." She managed a small smile. "And for once there was no backstabbing or vicious gossip as we sat having tea in the parlor while you men smoked your cigars and drank port."

Raoul raised an eyebrow. "With Sylvie Denoix in attendance? Meg must have the strength of her mother if she managed to get that woman from saying anything wicked about another person."

"Meg has always had Madame's strength," Christine replied. "I just do not think she fully realized it until she married Valery and took her place in Society."

Raoul sat down next to Christine, careful to keep a distance between them. "You set the example for her, you know. You never backed down from the gossip surrounding you. Now Meg is happily married to a Baron and facing the old lions of Parisian society with an open, no-nonsense style." Raoul gave his wife a gentle smile. "You and Meg shall teach them all in the end, I believe."

"Perhaps," Christine whispered. She stood, walking across the room, placing the glass back on the silver tray before turning to face Raoul. "I am going upstairs and have a quick bath."

There was something in her manner that left Raoul seated where he was. "I shall be up shortly," he told her.

There was not even a nod of acknowledgment from Christine as she exited the room.

Raoul stood up, draining the last of his brandy in one swallow, feeling it burn its way down his throat and into the empty pit of his stomach. He walked around the room, turning off the gas jets to the lamps, so that the only light in the room came from the bright moon outside and the remnants of the fire. Raoul walked to the windows, loosening the braided silk that held the drapes open, allowing the heavy brocade to fall, covering the windows and further plunging the room into a darkness that matched the darkness in his soul. He walked over to the front of the fireplace, sitting down on the rug in front of the hearth like he would do as a child. Raoul moved the fire screen aside and reached for the poker. He drew his knees up, sending the poker into the fire to stir the embers, not caring if small ashes flew out to land on his expensive clothing.

He sat in front of the fireplace, stirring what remained of the logs until they were embers. He then stirred the glowing embers until they were grey ash. Raoul thought it was a perfect metaphor for what had been happening in his marriage over the last weeks - a bright fire that was slowly burning itself out, leaving only cold, grey ash in its place - in his heart. He sat there for a long time, trying to find answers to questions he did not know to ask. His childhood had gone up in flames with the death of his mother, his father growing distant and cold. If it had not been for the indulgences of his older brother and sisters, Raoul would have never known the carefree happiness of childhood. Then just as he had thought his adulthood settled, that, too, had gone up in the flames of the opera house. Now his future seemed to be going up in flames, as well and he did not know what to do.

Raoul sighed and stood, replacing the poker, closing the fire screen. He walked out of the room, closing the door behind himself and climbed up the marble stairs to the second floor. His hands gripped the ornate wrought iron stair railing and Raoul gave a bitter, silent laugh - another cold thing in his life. Everything was turning cold and grey. He undid his tie as he walked down the second floor hallway to the double doors at the end. Raoul paused for a moment before opening the doors, quietly stepping inside and closing them. He looked at the huge bed and saw Christine tightly curled on the far side, her small figure illuminated by the moonlight pouring in through the window. Raoul stood silently for a moment, watching his wife sleep, before slipping out of their bedroom, walking down the hall and entering one of the many guest rooms where he would spend the night.

He did not know that Christine had been awake. He did not know that she had heard the door open and close, only to open and close again. Raoul had not seen her roll over, looking toward the closed door, placing an arm over her head, the tears flowing freely.

"Raoul," Christine had whispered through her tears.

The long night saw little sleep for either Raoul or Christine. Both had slept alone, tossing and turning, one hiding a possibility too frightening to think upon for long, one struggling to understand where he had failed. The sunrise had found them both up early, mourning the cold side of the bed in which they had slept. They had mourned alone, behind closed doors, knowing that their servants would not have the morning meal ready till after seven of the clock. Christine had sat on the edge of the bed she normally shared with Raoul, feeling sick to her stomach, knowing she could not say anything for fear of the reaction her words would provoke. Raoul had paced the hand-knotted rug in the guest room, feeling empty and truly alone for the first time in his life. As the great clock on the upstairs landing finally chimed seven, Christine opened the door of the bedroom and walked into the hallway. She heard the click of another door and sadly shook her head, wondering if there was a way to tell what she knew. And knowing there was not. Christine walked down the stairs and into the first floor dining room, knowing her husband would eventually follow.

Raoul had heard Christine open the door at the same moment as he opened his and he had carefully closed the door onto which he held. He was not quite ready to see her for he did not want to her to see any emotion on his face but the love he had always felt for her. Raoul counted to fifty, drew a deep breath and opened the door, walking down the stairs and following his wife into their dining room.

Christine was already seated in her usual spot to the right of the head of the table. She was pushing her food around the plate, occasionally slipping a small bit onto her fork before placing it into her mouth. She looked up at the sound of the door opening and gave her husband a smile that was as forced as the one on his face. Christine watched as Raoul moved across the room, gathering bits of food on his plate from the chafing dishes atop the buffet before coming to sit next to her. He dismissed the servant who appeared at his elbow with the teapot.

"Just place it on the table," Raoul told the girl and waited until she had left the room. He looked at Christine. "Did you sleep well?"

"I was exhausted after my bath," Christine told him. At least it was a half-truth. "I fell asleep almost as soon as my head touched the pillow. I awoke in the night, though, and you were not there."

"I knew you were tired and when I finally came upstairs to find you asleep, I had not wished to disturb you." Raoul could tell half-truths, as well. "I slept in one of the guest rooms."

"Raoul," Christine tried.

"Do not," Raoul interrupted her with a shake of his head. He pushed his seat back from the table, placing his napkin over the plate of food he could not taste. "I am surprised you even noticed I was not in the bed last night for you have been sleeping on the far side of our bed, completely away from me." He lowered his eyes. "From my touch. If I am to sleep alone, I would prefer it to be alone."

"Please try to understand," Christine tried again.

"Understand what?" Raoul nearly exploded. "Understand that for the last two weeks, you have distanced yourself from me? You have grown frigidly polite in public and completely removed from me when we are alone. I sometimes wonder if we even live in the same city, much less the same house. You barely tolerate my touch in public and it is worse in private. You will not allow me to hug you or to hold you and as far as our marital bed - I fear that is becoming a pleasant, distant memory."

Christine had nothing to say and lowered her head.

"I wish you would just tell me what I have done wrong!" Raoul's exasperation was getting the better of him. "I have been wracking my brain trying to find one thing that I have done that would displease you so, that would upset you to the point where you despise me enough to turn from me." He let out an angry breath. "Tell me what I have done that is so wrong!" Raoul nearly shouted.

"You have done nothing wrong," Christine tried reassuring him. She raised her head. "Have you ever thought that this is not about you but is about me? That, perhaps, I have something which I must understand before I can tell you what it is."

"I am your husband," Raoul replied in a stern tone and then more softly. "I also thought I was your friend. If you cannot turn to me, than perhaps I am neither."

Christine opened her mouth and closed it quickly. She stood up, wringing her hands, as she walked toward the windows that overlooked the street. The morning hustle and bustle that was Paris was beginning to make itself known in the milk trucks and carriages and people that were passing outside the window. Christine, though, could only make it out as moving water-colored blur through the tears that were gathering in her eyes.

"Perhaps we should leave Paris," Raoul said as he crossed his arms over his chest, pouting almost like a small child.

"What?" Christine asked without looking back at him.

"Philippe sent a letter the other day saying that now that the winter social season is over, that we may like to go down to Chagny and spend some time in the country with him." Raoul was silent for a moment. "I think we ought to do so."

Christine turned to face her husband, a look of deep apprehension on her face. "I do not think that long of a coach ride ..."

Raoul stood. "So, it is not just me? It is my entire family you are displeased with?"

"That is not what I meant," Christine tried.

"Then what it is you meant, Christine?" Raoul wondered. "Tell me for I find I cannot understand you any longer."

Christine studied the hurt expression on her husband's face and her heart broke knowing she was the reason it was there. And knowing she could not tell him why she had put it there. "Write to Philippe and tell him we shall come," Christine relented. "Perhaps some time in the country would do us both good."

"I shall write him immediately," Raoul said as he turned toward the door. He paused for a moment. "Can you be ready to leave in a week's time?"

"Yes," Christine replied.

"That should give the letter time enough to arrive in Chagny and give Philippe enough time to ready for our arrival." Raoul opened the door and left the room without looking back.

"Oh God," Christine whispered to herself. "What am I going to do now?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Summary:** _In the two years since the burning of the Opera Populaire, what has happened to Madame Giry, Meg ... and The Phantom?  
_  
_(A/N - "Tallis" is derived from Old French and means "forest" ... gotta love those baby name books! And once again I have given Erik a last name just not the same last name as my previous story. This name his last name is "Herrin".)_

CHAPTER TWO

The house was small when compared to the other houses in the neighborhood northwest of Paris. Once the guest quarters of a grand estate, the house now stood on its own, in the center of a half acre of green grass that was punctuated by carefully tended flower beds. It was a cheerful home with four bedrooms, three sitting rooms - one up, two down - a large room that acted as a library and music room and a warm kitchen. The groom had ordered the house decorated in rich colors that radiated warmth throughout every room before presenting it to the mother of his young bride. His actions had earned a joyous hug from his new wife and a small smile and nod of approval from her mother and he had been pleased to earn such acceptance from the formidable, rather frightening woman who was now his mother-in-law. Yet there had been one thing missing - a companion for the woman who would now call this place home. She had insisted such a thing was not needed but relented in the face of her daughter's pout. The young woman her new son hired had instantly met with approval and a comfortable bond was formed.

And on this day, Tallis Ordogne, companion to the mother of the Baroness de Castelot-Barbezac, stood in the kitchen of the comfortable home, arms covered in flour up to her elbows, her hands following an age-old motion of push and pull as she kneaded the bread dough beneath them. Tallis found comfort in the making of bread; it was something that had been handed down from her own mother, the wife of a tenant farmer on the Baron's lands. She found that it allowed her mind to drift along on pleasant daydreams of fragrant fields of alfalfa, the first wondrous glimpse of Paris, cold winter mornings and warm summer nights, the first smell of the sea. Tallis sighed, a small smile playing across her face as her favorite daydream passed in front of her mind's eye, if only he knew! And Tallis sighed again for she knew he would never know for he could not see beyond the end of his own nose to what lay in front of him.

"Ah well," Tallis said as she lifted up the bread, holding it before her face, "that is enough of that. What should you like to be today? Long baguette or small loaves for soup?" She raised an eyebrow at the dough. "Small loaves it is, then."

Tallis divided the dough into four pieces, shaping each one into a small round loaf. She sprinkled corn meal on top of each loaf before cutting an "x" into their tops. She placed the loaves on a board, turned around and carefully slipped the board into the brick oven behind her. Tallis moved the loaves off the board with a practiced ease before taking the board out of the oven and closing the door. She gave a quick look to the small clock that ticked away on a shelf before reaching up her hands to move the hair from her eyes.

"Such a simple thing it is to make bread," an elegantly modulated voice said from behind her, strong hands moving to her shoulders. "So simple yet so moving."

Tallis bit down the scream that wanted to come out and instead whirled around to face the person who had snuck up behind her. Icy fire flashed in her cool grey eyes and she slapped at the hands of the man standing before her. "I will be thanking you to not sneak up on me in such a manner!" she warned him. She was aggravated with him for always sneaking up on her and aggravated at herself for always falling for it. "And if you do not wish to have flour on your fine clothes, Monsieur Herrin, I suggest you step away."

Erik Herrin, the Opera Ghost, the Phantom, held up a hand in mock horror as he slowly backed away from two feminine arms pointed at him and completely covered in flour. "You wrong me, mademoiselle," Erik said. "I had no wish to startle you ..."

"That is not what I hear of you," Tallis said as she reached around Erik for a cloth and began wiping down the boards where she had been kneading the bread.

Two years ago such a comment from anyone, including any young lady, would have earned the speaker a fright - or worse - from The Phantom but the short interval of time had begun to change Erik. Six months hiding in the catacombs of Paris amongst the bones of the dead and the bodies of the dying had finished breaking what Christine had begun to break the moment she put her ring into his hand and walked away with that boy. The cries of the barely living and the blank stares of the long dead haunted his every step, reminding him of the tears Christine had shed, the blank look she had given him in the moment before her decision was made. He could find no corner, no shadow, no sanctuary that was far enough away or dark enough or safe enough from her eyes, her voice, her touch. Erik had no need of the ghosts of the catacombs for he was chased and tormented by the ghosts of his own making. He had eventually found his way back to what remained of his lair. He had set about to clear as much of the ruins from the mob as was humanly possible for Erik had wanted a quiet place in which to die, to give a final surrender to his own darkness. Yet even that was denied him for Madame Giry had found him in that darkness.

Erik had not known that she had come looking for him once a week since that awful night when the opera had been destroyed, burning the hopes and dreams of many in the conflagration that had engulfed the building. Erik was stunned to know that someone still cared for him, bore concern for him, wanted to help him and he had fought against her with every fiber of his being. He had railed and threatened, he had thrown things, he had sobbed pitifully, he had threatened to take his own life before her. All that his tantrums earned was a long-suffering look from Madame and the plea to make good on his words. Madame was not one for such nonsense and she had sat, ramrod straight, on his organ bench and urged him to "end this nonsense now or hold his tongue". Erik remembered the look that had passed between them, her eyebrow arched, her eyes darting to the small watch on a chain about her neck, almost as if she had better things to do and he had better get on with ending his life. It was the moment that had finally and completely broken him.

He had sighed dejectedly as he slid down the wall, ending up on the cold stone floor of his lair. Erik was surprised when Madame came over to sit by his side. She had taken his hand and held it as torrents of disappointment had flowed up from his heart to exit through his eyes. She had said nothing but just sat next to him, letting him cry out the poison that was eating him alive. It was at that moment that Erik remembered the young girl who had saved his life at such great risk to her own, one moment of grace that seemed to extend throughout his life.

"Oh, Antoinette," he had finally whispered.

"I will make this work," Madame Giry had replied.

And Erik knew she spoke the truth.

Two months later Madame had secured a small garret for him in no longer quite so elegant village northwest of Paris. He had wondered at her choice only to find that he was but an hour from the home that Madame's new son had purchased for her. Erik could make his way through the shadows of the woods between the village and the home if he wished to see her. It was a trip he would make often when his own shadows would begin to close in, chasing him from the two cozy rooms where he now resided. Yet the garret was not home for Erik for he always feared the knock on the door, the rattle of the window, knowing that someone would eventually be coming for him to make him pay for his sins. It was at those moments of anxiety that Erik would long for the safe, dark solitude of his lair. He often wished he had taken Madame up on her urging to end his miserable existence.

That was until he had met Tallis.

She had not turned from him the day she had come upon him and Madame unexpectedly. Tallis had willingly begun to back out of the door when Madame had begged her to come in and meet her old friend. Erik had stood, somewhat nervously, as Tallis approached him. His apprehension had fled as this remarkably calm woman had taken his outstretched hand and looked him in the eye. She had not flinched at his unmasked face. Nor had she laughed at him. She had merely introduced herself as Madame's companion and wondered if he would be joining Madame for luncheon. That had been the day that the broken pieces that were the remnants of the Opera Ghost had begun to look for each other, jagged ends searching for their match as they struggled to make themselves whole once more.

Now Erik stood in the sunny kitchen of Madame's home, watching as Tallis cleared away the last of the floury mess she had created. She never failed to amaze him with her quiet ways and calm self-assurance. She was so different from any other woman he had known - limited as such knowledge was. Tallis was unlike Madame who tolerated little nonsense from the world about her and could be as stern as a man should the occasion call for it. Nor was she anything like Meg who was sunny and open and excited about every new thing, every new experience that entered her life. And Tallis most certainly did not resemble any of the women who had lived backstage at the Opera Populaire; she was not flirtatious like the ballet rats or catty like the singers. Erik tried to will the next thought from his mind but failed - miserably. He shook his head as he thought that Tallis was not like Christine. Then, again, no one would ever be like Christine.

No one.

But Tallis, this girl from the country, had her own charm. She was straightforward and plain spoken. If she did not approve of something, she would tell you straight out. She smiled and shook her head at the nonsense of the world about her but realized it was a necessary part of being alive. Tallis enjoyed seeing the world that existed beyond the door of her childhood, the world that beckoned to an intelligent girl with visions seemingly beyond her reach. She did not flirt nor was she catty but respected each person with the same respect she showed to herself. She was not a great beauty but there was something pleasing in her grey eyes, light brown hair and ample curves. Tallis was an honest, loving person.

"So why do you speak as if you were born in Ireland?" Erik wanted to know.

Tallis looked at him as if he had suddenly grown two heads. "What?"

"What is that nonsense you babbled on about but a few moments ago - 'I'll be thanking you ..."

"It's England not Ireland," Tallis told him, looking Erik directly in the eye. "And why do you need to know?" She stood staring at Erik, her arms crossed over her chest..

"I am a student of many things," Erik told her, raising an eyebrow and not getting a response from the woman in front of him. He sighed. "Language amongst them. It is not often that a young woman raised on a French farm will turn a phrase from the Gaelic."

"Ha!" Tallis replied as she poked him in the chest. "That is how much you know! Gaelic can extend from Ireland to Scotland and into England. It can travel into Spain and Brittany." Tallis relented as she saw a shadow pass quickly over Erik's eyes at the mention of Brittany. "My mother's family is from the southern coast and during the times just before and just after the Revolution, they were involved with smuggling back and forth to the south of England. I have family there, now." She tilted her head. "Is that what you wished to know?"

"It is," Erik said, struggling to drive away the shadow of Christine that had slipped through the careful guards he had placed about his memory. The shadow slipped further away as Tallis smiled at him. He, too, had learned to relent. "But I did not come here today to torment you."

"That would be a nice change," Tallis said as she winked at him.

Erik actually managed a laugh. That, too, was a new learned skill. "In all honesty, I was invited to spend the afternoon with Antoinette." He sniffed, the smell of baking bread beginning to perfume the air of the kitchen. "I believe she said something about joining her for luncheon."

"Was it an invite or a beg?"

"A little of both, I believe," Erik replied.

Tallis tugged at Erik's jacket sleeve, not realizing the fire she stirred within him as her fingertips brushed the skin of his wrist. "Well, I shall have to set the soup on to simmer now for you could certainly use a bowl or two of something that would help to put some skin on those bones." She tsked at him. "What my mother would say about you and your horrible eating habits."

Erik leaned slightly toward Tallis. "I believe, child, the word you seek is 'deplorable'."

Tallis leaned toward him. "I shall remember that word for the next time I am tempted to say "horrible" and I believe I have a word for you."

"And, pray tell, what would that be."

Tallis drew herself up as far she could go and pointed toward the kitchen door. "Out!" she ordered.

Erik swept a mock bow, laughed, turned on his heel and exited the kitchen. He could hear the sound of pots banging as he walked the hallway toward the front of the house. He also heard Tallis begin to hum, a tune with which he was not familiar, and found himself picking up the simple notes, committing them to memory. He was thinking upon the music, wondering if it was French or English in origin when he heard voices. His instinct for self-preservation caused Erik to slink into the nearest shadowed corner, hiding himself from the world about him. He listened carefully and heaved a silent sigh of relief as he recognized the two female voices conversing just inside the front door.

"Oh, Maman," Erik heard Meg say, "they are both so unhappy and that is just not like them."

Erik could almost imagine the shake of Antoinette's head. "Meg, you can never know what truly goes on between the man and the woman in any marriage. I do not know what goes on between you and Valery but I know that you are happy and I also know there will be times of anger and sorrow. They are just experiencing a time of sorrow and I trust they will come through this and be happy once again."

"But I have always looked to them as having the perfect marriage!" Meg replied. "I want Valery and me to have what they have."

Erik heard the click of the door opening. "No marriage is perfect, my dear. You will have the marriage that you were meant to have," Madame was saying. "And they will find their way back to the marriage they were meant to have. Now, give me a kiss and be on your way. I do not wish to keep you from your perfect marriage."

Meg giggled and a few seconds later Erik heard the click of the door as it closed. He waited in the shadowed corner, listening to the click of horses' hooves and the clatter of wooden wheels as a coach pulled away.

"I know you are there," a woman's voice called out to him. "If you would be so kind as to join me in the parlor."

The sound of another door opening and Erik moved from the corner, walking down the hall and turning left into a parlor decorated in shades of warm yellow and cool blue. He almost felt like a small child answering an angry adult as he stood after answering Madame's summons and watched as she took a seat in one of the wing chairs seated beneath an elegant tapestry.

Madame Giry waved a hand at the chair opposite her. "Are you going to stand all day or will you take a seat?"

Erik sat and looked around himself in amazement. He could no longer remember how many times this home had startled him with its quiet, subtle wealth and dignified air and yet still managed to feel comfortable and welcoming. His eyes strayed toward the double doors on the far side of the room, imagining the rich, polished wood of the upright piano that graced one wall of the music room.

Madame Giry had not failed to see Erik's gaze wander; there was not much that she failed to see. "You will stay and play for me after luncheon?" She smiled at Erik's nod. "Then I am pleased for I miss the daily music of the opera house." She grimaced at a memory. "Except for the shrieking of the divas and the caterwauling of a horribly played violin."

Erik pondered for a moment as - yet again - he pushed down the stray memories that always darkened his conscience. "Caterwauling is very descriptive and very apt."

"Indeed," Madame replied. "Have you seen Tallis?"

Erik nodded. "She was in the kitchen baking bread and chased me away so that she could make the soup." His eyes grew distant. "I heard her humming a strange little tune and I must get her to teach me the whole song."

Madame smiled. "She is a wonder, that girl and I am so glad I listened to Meg and allowed Valery to bring her to me. She has a quick mind and is constantly begging me to teach her something new. She is a comfortable companion. It is almost like having a new ballet student; although, I fear Tallis will never have the body required of a dancer but she will have the grace of one someday."

"You are teaching her to dance?" Erik asked, somewhat startled.

"I am a dancer, Erik," Madame reminded him. "I have known nothing else in my life - save for the years of my marriage. It would be a crime against God were I to let His gift fall to waste. I am sowing so that I may reap."

Erik snorted. "You know how I feel about such things."

"I know," Madame replied, a knowing look in her eyes. "But I also know that someday that will change and you will be thankful to God for all that he has given you."

"Perhaps," Erik said as he dropped his head and studied his fingernails. "Was that Meg I heard at the door?"

"You know it was."

"And this couple of whom she spoke ..." Erik cleared his throat before continuing. "Would that be anyone with whom I may be acquainted?"

Madame gave a sigh of disgust. "Meg has a widening circle of young married couples she now counts as friends since her marriage to Valery." She paused, waiting till Erik lifted his head. "It is not always about Christine."

"I did not say that it was," Erik calmly replied although he felt anything but calm on the inside.

"You did not have to say such!" Madame shot back before shaking her head sadly. "Erik, she is married to Raoul, they are happy. Can you not leave it alone?"

"Someday," Erik replied. "Perhaps," he said more softly.

For it was about Christine.

It had been and would always be about Christine.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Summary:** Raoul and Christine leave Paris for Chagny but not before he contacts his attorney and banker. We are introduced to Arthur Weldon, Philippe's steward. And Raoul and Christine arrive at Chagny

CHAPTER THREE

Raoul sat at the ornate desk in his study and signed his name to the paper resting in front of him. He sighed and shook his head as he put the pen down. He lifted up the fine linen stationery, blowing gently on the drying ink and wondered if he was doing the right thing. Raoul put the paper back on the blotter and folded it carefully, slipping it into an envelope that he had previously addressed. He wondered if he was doing the right thing and as he pressed his sigil into the melted wax he had dripped onto the linen envelope Raoul knew it did not matter. He had done it and it was over with and now all that was left was to get the envelope to his banker. He picked up two more envelopes from his desk, one addressed to his attorney and one unmarked. Raoul stood and walked to the door, he opened it and looked into the hallway.

"Pierre," Raoul called to a well-dressed man coming down the hallway.

The man stopped and waited as Raoul left his study, closing the door behind himself. "What is it you require of me?" Pierre Martin, Raoul's personal assistant waited for his instructions.

"Would you please take this envelope," Raoul handed one of the three envelopes he held to Pierre, "and deliver it to my banker." He handed Pierre the second envelope. "This one must go to my attorney." Raoul kept the unaddressed envelope in his hands. "They must be delivered today and I am trusting you to see that it is done."

"It will be as you requested," Pierre said with a nod. "Do you and Madame still plan to leave on the morrow?"

Raoul sighed and nodded. "We shall be leaving first thing in the morning and I do not know how long we will be gone. Just do as you have always done and keep the house open and ready for our return."

Pierre had been with the family for years and had known Raoul since he was a young man wondering what university to attend. Pierre had seen Raoul through his burgeoning interest in being an active patron of the arts. He had supported the young man in his desire to marry Christine and now was praying that whatever was causing the tension between the young couple would be resolved during their trip to the country. Pierre wanted to see his young employers return from the country with smiles replacing the solemn looks they now wore on their faces. He was very loyal and quite fond of them.

"I shall go at once," Pierre replied, "and I shall report to you when I return."

"Thank you," Raoul said and thought quietly for a moment. "Do you know where my wife is?"

"She is in her sitting room," Pierre said with a nod as he walked toward the front door.

Raoul stood quietly for a moment, studying the unmarked envelope in his hands. Another decision that would affect Christine, that would affect both of them and he had once again taken it into his own hands. He wondered if it would be yet another thing that would further distance Christine from him.

"There is only one way to discover if that is true," Raoul said softly, turning on his heel and walking toward the front of the house, turning left down a small hallway, pausing at the door at the end of the hall. He raised his hand and knocked lightly.

"Come," Christine's voice called out.

Raoul fixed what he hoped was a sincere smile on his face, twisted the glass knob and opened the door.

He found Christine on the window seat, her back resting against the window sash, staring out at the street that ran in front of the house. She had her hands crossed over stomach in a restful position and a faraway look on her face, her hair worn lose, cascading around her shoulders. Raoul stood quietly for a moment, watching her, his smile softening, becoming sincere. He may not have understood what he had done wrong but at that moment Raoul was certain of one thing - he would always love that angel, surrounded by the glow of early spring sunshine, sitting in the window.

"May I speak with you?" Raoul asked softly.

Christine finally turned her head, her look going from faraway to slightly apprehensive. "Of course," she replied, setting her spine for what she was sure would be another disagreement.

The change in expression on his wife's face nearly broke Raoul's heart. "I have something I wish to share with you," he said as he walked across the room to sit on the opposite side of the window seat, careful to keep distance between himself and Christine. He handed the unmarked envelope to her.

Christine held the envelope in her hands, looking at it curiously, before raising her eyes to look at Raoul. "What is this?" she asked.

"Open it."

Christine opened the envelope and pulled out two slips of paper. She looked at them, a frown creasing her delicate features. "Train tickets?" Christine whispered.

"When you agreed to come with me to Chagny," Raoul began, "you did not seem all that fond of making the trip by coach. I wanted to find something to make this trip easier for you. We can take the train as far as Lyon and then it will be an easy overnight coach ride to Chagny."

Christine was silent for a moment as she stared at the tickets in her hands. She finally raised her head and reached across the small distance to embrace her husband. She heard Raoul sigh as she wrapped her arms about his neck. "Thank you," she whispered to him and drew back before her emotions overran her common sense and she said something she could not take back. Christine managed a small smile. "This is very kind of you considering ..."

"Stop there," Raoul said with a shake of his head. "Let me at least have the illusion that you still feel something for me."

"I do," Christine tried assuring her husband. "I do feel something for you."

"There is at least that," Raoul replied, taking his wife's hand and raising it to gently brush his lips against her knuckles. "I will go and see that everything is ready for tomorrow." He rose and walked out of the room.

Christine watched him go and stared for a long while at the closed door. "Oh Raoul," she sighed as she turned back to watch the world beyond her window.

The next morning found men carrying luggage from the town house and placing it carefully on the coach that waited out front. Christine stood on the stairs with her maid, Marie, giving last minute directions.

"I do not think I have forgotten to pack anything, Madame," Marie was saying.

Christine smiled at the young woman who was barely older than herself. She had known Marie from her time at the opera and felt comfortable with the girl who had worked in the costume department. After the fire - and before her wedding - Christine had located Marie with the help of Madame Giry and offered the girl a job as her personal maid. Marie had been overwhelmed with the offer that came just as she had been about to return to her family who lived not far from the northern city of Boulogne. She had accepted the job and quickly became the ideal companion for a young woman who was also learning the ways of her own new position in life.

"I know you have not," Christine assured the girl with a smile and gentle touch on her arm. "I want you to enjoy your free time while we are gone."

"I should be going with you," Marie said.

Christine actually managed a small laugh - the first one in nearly three weeks. "I am not that far gone from the backstage of the opera house to have forgotten how to dress and care for myself." She gave Marie a quick hug. "Now promise me you will have a lovely time while I am gone but you will still be here when we return."

Marie nodded. "It is a promise, Madame."

Raoul stood at the bottom of the staircase, out of sight of the women standing on it, but not far enough away that he did not hear the small laughs coming from his wife. The musical laugh brought a smile to his face for a brief moment before he returned his attention to Pierre who was standing with him.

"Everything is set?" Raoul wondered.

Pierre nodded his head slightly, handing Raoul a sealed envelope. "The banker assures me that this is all that you will require."

Raoul took the envelope and slipped it inside his jacket. "And my attorney?"

"Awaiting your word, Monsieur."

"May God grant that I never give it," Raoul whispered under his breath and returned his attention to Pierre. "I leave this house and its care in your hands."

"May you and Madame have an easy trip and a pleasant time in the country," Pierre replied. "And extend my regards to your brother."

"Thank you," Raoul told him. "I shall." He turned to find Christine standing on the bottom stair waiting for him. "Are you ready?"

"Yes," Christine told him and she took the arm that Raoul extended. All her senses cried out to her, urging Christine to throw her arms about her husband and tell him what she knew. She knew he would understand but she could not bear to see the look in his eyes when she told him. Instead, Christine gave Raoul a stiff smile and walked with him out the front door and into the waiting coach. She climbed in and settled onto the velvet cushions. Christine drew a deep breath as her husband entered the coach. She slid slightly to the right so that Raoul could sit next to her. She heard the click of the door as Pierre closed it and heard him give the order to the driver. The coach jerked forward slightly and settled into an easy motion as it moved toward the train station.

And Christine's gloved hand reached out to cover her husband's - a telling gesture.

The ride through the early morning streets of Paris was smooth and easy. The city was in the last stages of waking to the new day, stretching its arms and moving its legs as people exited their homes, street markets arrayed their wares to best advantage and shops opened their doors. Paris became vibrant as its citizens filled their beloved city with life. Christine and Raoul watched the city and its people through separate windows, not willing to look at each other. The only sign that each was aware there was another in the coach were the two hands that rested gently on each other and the velvet cushion.

Finally the coach drew into the train station in the center of Paris. The driver slowed, stopping at the front entrance. A man dressed in uniform quickly moved to open the door, waiting as Raoul exited the coach. Raoul turned to take Christine's hand and helped her alight before turning to the uniformed man.

"We are in sleeper coach two," he said and handed the man the tickets, "on the nine a.m. to Lyon."

"Oui, Monsieur," the man replied and looked up at the driver. "The porters can be found around the left."

The driver tipped his hat and directed the coach around the left of the huge building. Christine took Raoul's arm and they followed the uniformed man, waiting until he opened the door, allowing them to enter the building.

"We should go promptly," Raoul said as he glanced at the clock on the wall and began to lead Christine through the crowd.

The station was a growing cacophony of sound and blur of color. People from all stages of life moved in and out of doors and corridors as they searched for the place they needed to be. Men glanced at pocket watches and harried mothers tried to rein in rambunctious children. Voices competed for attention with the calls of porters and conductors. And over and above all was the hissing and mechanical whining of the locomotives. Their steam engines huffed and puffed out their impatience to be set free even as their mechanical parts echoed strange sounds from unknown depths. The Paris station was a place out of a strange dream, noisy, writhing, covered in a fine mist.

"It reminds me of a dragon," Christine said as she leaned toward her husband.

Raoul looked down at her upturned face in amusement. "A dragon?" he asked.

"All this steam and noise." Christine raised her free hand to her ear. "Those sounds - they are like a dragon from a story."

"That your father used to tell," Raoul nodded in understanding.

Christine stopped, causing her husband to stop. "That you used to read to me."

Raoul was taken aback. "It had slipped my mind." He patted the gloved hand holding to his arm. "Thank you for reminding me."

"You are welcome," Christine said with a slight smile and a gentle squeeze to his arm.

"Shall I protect you from the dragon, my lady?" Raoul playfully tried. The look that Christine gave him stopped Raoul's heartbeat.

"Always," she replied in a soft, earnest tone.

"Then stay by my side and I will guard you from the dragon that awaits us."

Christine prayed that it would be that simple but knew that there were dragons and demons from which Raoul would never be able to guard her. Her fears and her indecision were things that she would never be able to outrun, that would never let her escape from the dragon. But Christine - once again - buried them away, out of sight, in the dark recesses of her mind. She fell into step with her husband and allowed him to guide her toward the hissing, mechanical dragon that waited to take them far from Paris and into the heart of the country.

The private sleeper coach that Raoul had secured was quietly elegant and the three-day trip to Lyon was uneventful. Christine and Raoul read books as they sat in the red velvet chairs or watched as the French countryside passed beyond their windows. The bucolic scenery of the outside world full of whitewashed villages, green fields, distant blue mountains and sparkling lakes could not penetrate the chill that still existed between the young couple who watched as it passed by. They were polite to each other, speaking gently as they shared meals or commented on the newest paper delivered by a porter from the latest stop. But it was at night that the chill was most pronounced for there was only a double bed in the private coach and each evening Christine would curl up on one side of the bed, sheets pulled tightly to her chin. On their first evening, Raoul had tried reaching out for his wife, only to receive a polite "good night" from Christine. For the next two evenings, he had slept as far on the opposite of the bed as was humanly possible, completely unaware of the desperate need his wife was fighting, the silent tears she cried until sleep finally claimed her.

They had left Paris on a Tuesday morning and finally arrived in Lyon early on Friday afternoon. Raoul held Christine's hand as she stepped from the coach into the warm spring day.

"It is good to be off the train," Christine said.

Raoul gave her a smile as they began to walk through the station.

"Monsieur le Vicomte?" A male voice asked as Raoul and Christine reached the main lobby.

Christine watched as a warm smile lit her husband's face and he let go of her hand to take the one the man extended toward him.

"Arthur!" Raoul exclaimed. "I did realize Philippe would send you to meet us."

"I would not let him send anyone else," Arthur replied with a smile, his voice carrying an English instead of a French accent.

Raoul turned his attention to his wife. "Arthur, this is my wife, Christine," he said as Christine extended her hand, smiling at this rather handsome middle-aged man. "Christine, this is Arthur Weldon; he is Philippe's assistant, steward ..." Raoul actually laughed. "I do not really know what he does except keep me out of trouble when I misbehave."

Arthur bowed slightly over Christine's hand. "I am Philippe's steward. I have been with him since shortly after he inherited the title. And I am very pleased to finally meet the young woman who has stolen Raoul's heart for I have heard much about you."

Christine blushed. "Thank you," she said softly.

Arthur looked between the two young people who were studiously not looking at each other. So, he thought, the rumors from Paris were true and there was a problem. No wonder Philippe had requested separate sleeping quarters be prepared from the young couple. But it was not his place to question the family for which he worked, all he needed to do was to ensure the safe arrival of the Comte's brother and his young wife.

"I have made arrangements for us to spend the evening at the Saint Joan Inn," Arthur told Raoul and turned once again to Christine. "It is an elegant inn halfway to Chagny, very old with a fine proprietor and cuisine that would make even a Paris chef green with envy."

"It sounds lovely," Christine said and turned to Raoul. "Have you been there before?"

"Often," Raoul told her. "Arthur is correct and I know it will find favor in your eyes."

"Then, please," Christine told both men, "let us not delay on my part."

Delay, they did not.

Arthur lead the young couple to a small indoor café where he procured tea and buttery pastries. By the time they had finished their snack, the coach had been piled with their luggage and was waiting for them in front of the station. The coach was even more elegant than the ones they owned back in Paris and Philippe's Coat of Arms graced the door panels on each side. Raoul and Christine took seats on one of the soft leather benches and Arthur settled himself into the other. He kept up a running commentary of what they passed as the coach moved through Lyon and toward the country. Arthur did it for Christine who - he had been told - had never visited this part of France before. Yet he seemed to be doing it, as well, as a distraction and a way to ease the tension he had felt existed between the young couple seated opposite him.

As the sun began to set, giving way to the purpled shadows of twilight, the coach pulled into a circular drive, stopping in front of a medium-sized country home. As Christine exited the coach, she smiled at the warm glow coming through the windows of the inn, her heart matching the glow as she heard the finely played notes of a piano drifting out the door that was opened by a liveried footman. As she and Raoul followed Arthur into the inn, the smell of roasted chicken greeted the nostrils of the hungry travelers and warm colors and comfortable furniture greeted their eyes.

"It is very lovely," Christine assured both men as they looked at her, waiting for her reaction.

But that night found Raoul and Christine sleeping on opposite sides of the bed again.

In the morning, Raoul and Christine put on their best faces as they met Arthur for breakfast before they departed for Chagny. Arthur felt a tug of despair at his heart for if he could sense the chill between Raoul and Christine, it was a certainty that Philippe would not fail to notice it. And as much as Philippe loved his younger brother, Arthur worried what his reaction would be to the young woman he had not wanted Raoul to marry. Philippe had relented and given his permission to the marriage simply because he loved his brother and wanted only his happiness. What would happen when he saw how quickly that happiness had dissipated? Arthur prayed that his employer - his friend - would have the patience to let these young people work out their difficulties for themselves without interference.

All of these thoughts passed through Arthur's mind as the coach moved through the countryside heading for Chagny. He listened as Raoul described what was passing the coach to his wife. He told her tales from his childhood, relating the silly, embarrassing things into which young boys will stumble. Arthur was relieved to see smiles pass Christine's face on occasion. Finally, as the day crept toward mid-afternoon, the coach slowed, turning right down a long lane lined by birch trees.

"You have never been here before?" Arthur tried as he noticed Christine begin to bite her bottom lip.

"No," Christine said with a shake of her head, keeping her eyes on the world outside the coach.

"We never found the time," Raoul said. "There was always so much to do in Paris." He touched his wife's arm and smiled as she turned to look at him. "But I think you will like it."

Christine turned back to look out the window as the coach slowed, pulling into a circular drive. "Oh my," she breathed.

Chagny was a huge stone chateau. There were three stories to a building that dwarfed the coach that was pulling up in front of it. A pennant with Philippe's Coat of Arms fluttered from a corner tower that spiraled upwards. Ivy and morning glories crept along the facade, relieving the grey of the fieldstone from which the chateau had been constructed. The coach pulled up and stopped next to a set of stone stairs, a middle-aged man with the same coloring as Raoul walking gracefully down them.

Raoul opened the door before the valet could, jumping down almost before the coach had fully stopped. "Philippe!" he said warmly as he embraced his brother.

"Impertinent lad," Philippe chided him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Summary:** A quiet spring morning. Cups of steaming tea. And a conversation between two brothers.

CHAPTER FOUR

Philippe rose early in the mornings, meeting the sun as it came over the white-capped mountains to the east. He quickly slipped on a pair of pants, a casual shirt and scuffed shoes. It was not the Comte de Chagny that the denizens of Paris were used to seeing in their opera houses, their cafes, their gaming halls and with ladies from all walks of life. It was not the elegant gentleman escorting eligible young woman through the respectable venues while making them feel as if they were the most important part of his life. It was not the gentleman lounging at the card tables, seemingly disinterested in the pile of money growing before him. It was not the gentleman laughing at a barely dressed girl who sat upon his knee, twirling her fingers in his hair. This was a different Philippe, a new Philippe, a Philippe who had willingly surrendered his position in Paris society to his young brother and new sister. This was a Philippe who happily retreated to the country where he was near childhood friends and the uncomplicated, truthful people of the village. It was here that Philippe found a sense of peace, a sense of purpose as he actively managed lands that had been managed by other Comtes de Chagny dating back almost six hundred years.

The door to his bedroom suite opened and Philippe slipped out the door and moved quietly, with catlike grace, down the hall. He carefully walked past the two doors on opposite sides of the hall where Raoul and Christine slept, shaking his head and making a mental note to lock the two youngsters in a room until they came to their senses. Philippe reached the top of the staircase and his feet lightly stepped on the Persian runner that covered the highly polished wood. His step was gentle and Philippe made no noise as he moved down the turning staircase. He reached the bottom of the stairs and acknowledged with a nod the valet who waited by the front door.

"The day?" Philippe wanted to know.

"A bit chill for a spring morning, Monsieur," the valet replied.

"Thank you," Philippe said and noted the look in his well-trained valet's eyes. "What is it?"

"I do not wish to pry into family issues but Monsieur le Vicomte rose two hours ago and is on the back portico," the valet said.

"Ah," Philippe replied and nodded his thanks to the man. Since arriving almost four days previously, Raoul had taken to rising before anyone in the household to sit quietly and alone on the back portico. Philippe decided to try to draw out his young brother, offer him the wisdom of a lifetime and - if necessary - take the silly child over his knee until Raoul saw reason. He turned on his heel and walked down the hall, moving past the dining room and going down a small flight of stairs that lead into the homey warmth of the huge kitchen.

"And what brings you to my kitchen at this hour?" the middle-aged housekeeper, Mathilde, wanted to know. She had begun working for Philippe's mother two years before Raoul was born and had stayed to oversee the household that her employer had loved. Mathilde now considered herself almost as a mother-figure to the Comte and she tolerated his intrusion into places where he should normally not be found.

"I crave your pardon," Philippe replied with a small bow and a crooked smile; he enjoyed disturbing his staff's carefully laid plans. "May I please have two cups of tea?"

Mathilde shook her head - the Comte had not changed in all the years she had known him - as she moved toward the huge wood-fired stove. She reached for two small china cups that sat upon a nearby cabinet.

"No," Philippe interrupted her and gave Mathilde a dazzling smile as she turned toward him. "May I please have two of the larger cups that you use?"

Sighing, Mathilde opened one of the upper cabinets and pulled out two large, hand-created cups that one of the upstairs maids always brought with her when she returned from her village in the Pyrenees. Mathilde turned back to the stove, pouring ready-brewed tea into the two mugs. She walked over and handed them to Philippe who beamed at her, causing her to blush. He was too irritatingly perfect, Mathilde thought to herself as she watched Philippe ascend the kitchen stairs.

Philippe carefully carried the cups as he walked toward the back of the house. He stood by the French doors leading to the outside and saw his brother seated in one of the rocking chairs. Raoul had one leg openly crossed over the other, the foot resting on the stones moving the chair in which he sat back and forth. His arms were crossed over his chest and Raoul was staring off into the distance, over the formal gardens covered in a cool spring fog that hugged the ground. Philippe took one hand and carefully eased one of the doors open, pushing it fully open with his shoulder and slipping out onto the porch. He moved to his brother, noting that Raoul had not changed position, almost as if he had not heard the opening door or the footsteps upon the stone portico.

"I thought you might like one of these," Philippe said as he extended one of the cups.

Raoul raised his face to look at his brother and took the cup into his hands, wrapping them around the hand-crafted porcelain, feeling the warmth reach into cold fingers. "Too bad it cannot warm a heart," Raoul muttered as he stared into the amber liquid. He turned his attention back to Philippe. "Thank you," Raoul said, returning his attention back to the formal gardens as Philippe sat in the chair next to him.

"I thought I might find you out here," Philippe said as he leaned back in his chair. "This was always your favorite spot when you came home."

"There is something so ethereal about the gardens when the mist hugs the ground," Raoul told him. "When I was younger, I would imagine it was the mist from an evil sorcerer who was seeking me out, trying to get me to tell him the secrets of my magic."

"And now?" Philippe wondered, trying to draw his brother out.

Raoul took a sip of the hot tea. "Now I find it restful. I find I do not have to think to just sit here and rock while admiring the beauty of a spring morning."

Philippe nodded in understanding. "Now you know why I fled here from Paris." He also sipped his tea and shook his head. "There is something about this home, this land that soothes our souls. Sometimes, on mornings like this, I can almost believe the fog contains the spirits of all those who came before us, moving through our lives, giving us their approval." He sighed heavily and took another sip of tea. "It is so restorative."

"I did not realize you needed restoration," Raoul said as he turned to look at Philippe.

"You are still very young," Philippe replied with a small smile. "There is only so much wine, women and song that one man can take before the bubbles float away, the beauty fades and the music goes flat. And I had reached and extended myself beyond that point." Philippe decided to be the head of the family since it was obvious that Raoul was in no mood to share confidences. "That night, when I pulled myself out of the wet depths of the opera house ..."

"You will never know how sorry I am that you became entangled in the mess I created," Raoul said without turning to look at Philippe.

"Raoul," Philippe frowned; he, too, could not turn his head. "I chose to be there that evening. All I intended to do was to see you and Christine safely from that place. And when I heard that you had fled to the cellars to rescue the woman you loved, I had no choice but to follow you and do my best to help you." Philippe turned his head and actually smiled. "After all, I have been chasing you since you were a baby and cleaning up the messes you left behind." Philippe noticed that Raoul barely cracked a smile.

"That is true," Raoul replied. "I am sorry for the interruption," Raoul added. "Please continue."

Philippe loved his brother but there were times when he could be so irritating. "I was saying that when I had discovered that you and Christine had survived the fire and the cellars, I knew it was time. Time to leave Paris and our family's duty to that city in your capable hands. In addition you had something I never found."

Raoul turned to look at his brother, his brows creased in curiosity.

"You had a wife. You found the one woman you loved and you did not back down from anyone who questioned your choice. You loved Christine and she loved you and I knew both of you would be more than capable of stepping into my shoes."

"You loved once, if I remember," Raoul said.

"Yes, I did," Philippe replied, returning his gaze to the world that extended beyond the edge of the portico. "Once. But I did not have your courage and I would never have stood up to Father the way you stood up to me. I did not have the courage to fight for the woman I loved and I had to let her go."

"I do not see how Father could have objected to Monique." Raoul remembered the kind, laughing, dark-haired beauty of his youth and the stories his sisters would tell of her as he grew older. "I remember her as beautiful and very fun."

"Raoul, you were four years old!" Philippe exclaimed. "Of course you saw Monique as beautiful and fun." Now it was Philippe's turn to gaze into the distance. "But she did not have enough money to please our sire. It did not matter that we did not need the money, it was the honoring of convention that required the woman who would be my wife to bring a sizeable dowery to the marriage." He sighed. "And our father was nothing if not a slave to convention."

"I had no idea," Raoul replied, not knowing what else to say.

"That was a long time ago," Philippe admitted.

There was a great sea of silence between the two brothers.

"Does it ever bother you," Raoul asked, "to see Monique with Xavier?"

Philippe wondered who it was that Raoul was really asking about but he shook his head and spoke in the most honest tone of voice he could muster. "No, Raoul, it does not." Philippe turned to look at his brother who was staring at him in amazement. "Do not be so surprised. I loved Monique and I think in some dark depth of my soul I still do but I could not have her. Why would I not wish to see her happy with my best friend? Xavier loved her and, at least, I knew he would be good to her."

"Did Monique not know you wanted to marry her?"

"Absolutely not." Philippe was insistent. "I would not have dreamt of approaching her with a proposal of marriage without Father's approval! I never even declared my love for her. As far as Monique knew - and as far as I know to this day - we were just great friends. She had so many admirers, why would she have singled me out?"

Another wave of silence began to undulate, making itself known.

Philippe took a sip of his tea. "By the way, in case I have not mentioned it, Xavier and Monique are quite anxious to come to dinner. They cannot wait to see you and renew their acquaintance with Christine."

"I would like to see them again." Raoul stared into his tea, distant memories putting a smile on his solemn face. "They always indulged my every fantasy as child when you and our sisters were too busy. I remember them always sneaking little treats into my hands when you were not looking."

"Do not think I did not see that!" Philippe informed his brother. "I have stunned you again, I see." He shook his head. "It is something you will learn when you become a father."

"If ever," Raoul muttered but not softly enough so that Philippe did not hear.

Philippe placed his mug on the stone portico. "Raoul, I need you to look at me." He waited until his brother was looking at him. "I do not wish to pry into this distance that seems to be growing between you and your wife. I am sure, though, that the servants thought me quite mad for ordering separate bedrooms be prepared without knowing it was your request. This is France, after all, and not England where most aristocratic marriages are only for the begetting of a male heir or two. I knew you loved Christine and I let you marry for that love, giving you what I never had." Philippe grew quite solemn. "Do not let Christine go."

"I am not the one who wishes to let go," Raoul told his brother. "I am not even sure if Christine wishes to let go." He sipped at the rapidly cooling tea. "I wonder if either of us knows what we want."

It was a delicate subject but Philippe felt it needed to be broached. "Is it because there is not yet a child?"

"I don't know," Raoul honestly admitted.

"Would it make a difference if there were never any children?"

Raoul looked at his brother as if Philippe had suddenly grown horns and a tail. "What kind of question is that?" he nearly shouted.

"An honest one."

Philippe watched as Raoul also placed his mug on the stone portico before standing and walking to one of the many columns lining the portico's edge. Raoul placed a hand on the cool wooden column, staring quietly into the distance for a moment before turning around, leaning against the column, to look at his brother.

"I would not care if there were never any children," Raoul said. "I love my wife and all I want is to wake up each morning to see her smile. I want her to know that I am her safe harbour from all the dangers this world can present. I want her to know that she can trust me with anything!" He raised his eyes and shook his head. "I want to spend my life with her. I want to grow old with her. I want her for better or for worse, richer or poorer, in sickness and in health." He lowered his eyes and swallowed heavily. "I just want my best friend."

"What is it that Christine wants?" Philippe wondered.

"You do not think I wish I knew!" Raoul exclaimed. "If I knew what she wanted, I would give it to her! I would give her anything to make her happy!"

"Even if that meant seeing her in the arms of another man?" Philippe studied his fingernails. "A man in a mask, perhaps?"

"Even that," Raoul managed to choke out between clenched teeth.

Philippe snorted and shook his head in disgust. "Will you ever stop being such a saint?"

Raoul stood up straight. "Pardon?"

Philippe finally stood. "You fought against a madman to save Christine. You stood up to me to win her hand. Now stop being such a damned saint and fight with Christine to save what you have both worked so hard to gain!"

"How can I fight when I do not know what I am fighting against?"

"Have you asked?"

"I am not a fool!" Raoul told his brother in a dangerous tone of voice. "I have asked and asked and asked! Christine will not tell me!"

"Then she is a fool, as well!"

"Watch how you speak of my wife," Raoul warned.

"Ah," Philippe said as his lips curved into a half-smile. "A saint with a small temper."

"Philippe ..."

"Calm down, Raoul," Philippe said. "I would never think of insulting Christine as I am quite fond of her." He grew thoughtful. "Now, locking the two of you in a room until you settle your differences, that is another thought entirely."

"Is that why you sent the invitation to come down?" Raoul wondered.

"Is that why you came down at my invitation?" Philippe shot back.

The brothers stared at each other for moment before shaking their heads and breaking into soft laughter.

"It is good to have you here," Philippe finally said.

"It is good to be here," Raoul agreed. There was another silence between them. "Would you truly lock Christine and me in a room?"

"I am sorely tempted," Philippe replied. "But this is your marriage and you must work out this difficulty for yourself. I believe, though, that Monique wishes to befriend Christine."

Raoul looked exasperated. "Xavier and Monique know?"

"Their cousin Didier recently came down from Paris and he had heard rumours ..."

"From Henri," Raoul interrupted his brother and finished the sentence. "Is there anything our annoying cousin does not know?"

"Paris will talk, my dear boy."

Raoul grimaced. "I wish they would find something else to speak about other than my wife." He let out a long breath. "I take it that Henri and Didier are here?"

"Staying with Xavier and Monique," Philippe acknowledged. "But I have promised Henri that he would be welcome to stay here once you and Christine were settled in."

"I believe we are about as settled in as we will ever be with this distance between us." Raoul thought for a moment. "I think it would do Christine good to have Monique to speak with. She usually turns to Meg but that is not an option this far from Paris."

"Good," Philippe said with a nod of his head. "I shall send today to let Xavier and Monique know that we will expect them for dinner tomorrow night."

Raoul was a bit shocked. "Tomorrow night?"

Philippe laughed. "This is not Paris, dear child; things here are done a bit more casually between close friends. I cannot tell you how often Xavier, Monique and I dine at each other's homes."

"Perhaps casual is what Christine needs." Raoul thought silently for a moment. "Just some time away from the rigidity of Parisian society."

Philippe walked over and warmly clasped his brother on the shoulder. "A trip to the country is always pleasant and uneventful and rejuvenating for the soul."

"In other words, it can only be a good thing," Raoul replied.

"Precisely," Philippe said with a smile. "Now let us go in and get something hot to warm our bellies for if I stay out here another minute, I shall succumb to frostbite."

"Liar," Raoul said as the brothers laughed.

And the woman who listened to the voices drifting upwards from the columned portico bit back a sob and lightly closed the window. Christine lifted her eyes toward the clouds floating faraway in the lightening sky. "Please," she prayed softly. "Let it be good," she lowered her eyes towards her feet, "for all of us," Christine finished softly.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Summary:** In which we are introduced to cousin Henri and the neighbors - Xavier and Monique de la Censiere and their cousin Didier - Henri's drinking partner.

_(A/N - Many thanks to my LiveJournal friend - **musiquephan** - for letting me borrow Henri, the character she created. And for trusting me to keep him in character.)_

CHAPTER FIVE

Henri de Chagny stood outside the old chateau directing the loading of his luggage onto the farm cart that stood in front of the building. He was tall and handsome, his dark blonde hair pulled back from his face and held in place by a dark blue ribbon. Henri was dressed for riding in a casual shirt tucked into buff colored pants. He wore a dark brown jacket that matched the dark brown riding boots covering his feet and calves. He had spent years living in England where he developed a charm and an easy grace by studying dance with the best teachers his parents could muster. They had hoped the discipline of dance would help to tame the wayward inclinations of their son. They had thought wrong. The grace developed from his studies had only added to Henri's ability to manipulate all those around him, adding to the already huge ego he hid beneath that grace and charm.

"Oh, do be careful with that," he smiled at two men who were placing a small leather trunk on the cart. "It was a gift from my father." The men finished what they were doing and nodded at Henri before they walked off towards a distant barn. "Thanks ever so!" Henri called after them and turned his attention to the two men sitting in the front of the loaded cart. "You do know where to go, yes?" he asked.

"Oui, monsieur," one of the men responded.

"We will be off, if we may?" his companion added.

Henri waved a cheery hand in the air. "Then be off with you, good sirs! Have a safe trip and assure my beloved cousins I shall be with them promptly!" He stood and watched as the cart moved off down the drive, turning left at the end and headed towards Chagny.

"That's done then," a voice said from behind Henri. Didier de la Censiere grinned and shook his head as his friend turned around. Didier was the same age as Henri - both but two years younger than Raoul. Didier had the dark, rich burgundy-colored hair of his cousin, Xavier, and the same golden-brown eyes. He was dressed for riding, much the same as Henri and he, too, wore his hair long and pulled back from his face. Didier was as charming as Henri but there was no guile beneath his pleasant exterior, just a quiet intelligence that observed and noted all that happened within its sphere.

"Done," Henri agreed with a nod as Didier jumped down the stairs, landing easily on the rock-covered drive.

"Now what?" Didier wanted to know.

"Now I shall go to Chagny and pay my respects to my esteemed cousins."

"And the lovely Christine?"

Henri looked shocked. "But of course! How could I ever forget the lovely little singer that my cousin has chosen to take to wife?"

"Umm," Didier sounded between closed lips, looking sideways at his friend.

Henri threw a friendly arm about Didier's shoulders. "Oh, come," he said. "You know that is forbidden territory."

"Perhaps not, if what they say in Paris is true."

"Perhaps," Henri nodded in agreement. "But this is family, my dear chap, and one does not intrude beyond the closed bedroom doors of family members." He winked at Didier. "No matter how great the temptation."

There was a silence in which each young man studied the other. The silence was broken by their laughter.

"Oh," Didier finally managed, "it is going to be so boring in this stuffy place with you on the other side of the village."

"Shall we trade stuffy places?" Henri wanted to know as he waggled his eyebrows.

Didier looked shocked. "Heaven forfend!" he exclaimed. "I would rather live with my stuffy cousins than yours."

Henri sighed and looked almost stricken. "There are times when I would also."

"Shall I accompany you to your fate?"

"That is most gracious of you, sir," Henri replied as he swept an elegant bow. "And shall we stop for fortification on our way?"

"Ah," Didier's golden-brown eyes twinkled. "Courage to face the beast in its own lair?"

"Precisely."

"I shall buy the first round," Didier replied.

"Done then," Henri answered.

"Done," Didier finished.

The two men began to stroll off towards the stables where grooms had their mounts saddled and waiting. They were unaware of the woman watching them from one of the long windows that lined the front of the chateau. They did not see the drape fall back into place as her hand let it go and she turned back to the elegant sitting room to address her husband.

"I do not think this is a wise decision," Monique de la Censiere addressed her husband. "We should not be sending Henri off to Chagny if there is truly trouble in Raoul's marriage."

Xavier de la Censiere lounged in a velvet wing chair, his long legs crossed at the ankles, a book held in his hands. He was a older version of his cousin Didier with the same eyes and hair - although age had added distinguished grey to his temples. Xavier sighed, placed the open book down on the table next to hm and drew his legs up, sitting straighter in the chair. He smiled gently at his wife who still bore the beauty that had first attracted him twenty years ago for Monique's blue-black hair had yet to see a single strand of grey and her violet eyes were still soft and expressive.

"My dear," Xavier began with a sigh, "Raoul is no longer a little boy and can manage his own affairs. Besides, you know perfectly well that Philippe requested Henri's presence. I do believe Philippe is feeling rather paternal at the moment and wishes to have as many of his family members about him as is possible."

"But you know what Henri can be like when he has been drinking," Monique replied and waved toward the window from which she had been watching. "And I can assure you that he and Didier are going to stop at the inn on their way to Chagny."

Xavier held out hands to his wife. Monique crossed the room and took them, sitting down in the chair next to her husband. "I am perfectly aware that Didier drinks but he is not like Henri when he has had too much. I trust Didier to keep Henri's more - how shall I put this - base instincts in check. And we both know that Philippe can bring Henri to heel any time he chooses to do so." Xavier let go of his wife's hands and picked his book up off the table. "Should worse come to worse, we can always bring Henri back here and lock him in the attic, " Xavier chuckled.

Monique sighed in disgust. "This is not a matter to be laughed at! Raoul and Christine are so young and have been through so much already. Do you think they truly need to be dealing with Henri as they try to work through their current difficulties?"

Xavier closed his book, keeping a finger in it to mark his spot and turned to look at Monique. "Raoul is no longer the little boy we both indulged when we thought no one was looking. He is a grown man with a wife and I do not think either he or Christine would appreciate our meddling in their affairs any more than they will appreciate Henri or even Philippe doing so." Xavier turned his attention back to the book in his hands. "And we shall have a chance to learn for ourselves what is happening with Raoul and Christine when we dine with them tonight."

Monique stared at her husband for a moment. "Men," she sighed disgustedly. "You just do not understand."

"That's correct," Xavier said softly. "We understand nothing but I am sure the women of the world will enlighten us when they see fit."

"When we see fit," Monique assured him as she stood and left the room.

Xavier shook his head at the sound of the door closing. "I understand far more than you think I do, my dear." He opened his book once again. "Women," he sighed.

"Women," Didier exclaimed as he grabbed Arlette, one of the barmaids at the local inn, about the waist. He grinned up at her. "Why can they not all be like you?"

Arlette squirmed her way out of his grasp. "Because if they were you would get bored with all of us!" she winked at Didier before moving her way back toward the bar.

Didier and Henri watched Arlette move across the inn floor, appreciating the gentle sway of her hips, the way her long blonde hair waved with each movement of her body. They had been at the inn for close to three hours and neither man was feeling any pain.

"Oh," Didier said as he let out a breath. "She is a fine specimen."

Henri nodded his agreement. "Quite nice. Quite, quite nice."

Didier turned his attention back to his friend and drinking companion. "But ..."

"Not quite the marrying kind," Henri raised his mug to his lips and downed the last bit of ale before clunking it on the table. "Not quite the mistress kind but good for a laugh or two."

"And who would be the mistress kind?" Didier wondered as he looked into his own mug and found it empty. He raised his eyes and looked at Henri. "A dark-haired little slip of a singer?"

Henri raised an eyebrow. "And why not?"

"Oh, I don't know," Didier replied with a shrug. "Because she is your cousin's wife, perhaps?"

"But cousin Raoul is obviously not giving the little singer what she needs. Witness that there is no child to brighten their lives and yet they have been married for over two years." Henri grinned wickedly. "Perhaps she is still longing for her masked lover."

Didier returned the wicked grin. "And this would have nothing to do with the fact that if the little singer does not produce a child the estate will go to you?"

Henri placed a hand over his heart. "I am shocked! Shocked, I tell you!"

"Ha," Didier snorted.

"But you must admit," Henri continued, "that it is intriguing. Most young couples who hold a position in society which Raoul and Christine hold are anxious to provide the required heir." His eyes twinkled dangerously. "And you know that she is a passionate little thing with all that opera singing and dancing half-naked on the stage and having a dangerous, murdering lunatic for a lover." He shook his head. "No, I am firmly convinced that whatever is the trouble in that marriage can be laid right at the feet of my overly sanctimonious cousin, Raoul. That boy has always been too good to be true."

"That is something my family has known for centuries."

Henri waggled a finger at Didier. "Precisely, my good man. There have always been members of my family who think themselves too fine to associate with anyone who does not have Heaven as the address on their calling card. Your family has always known that and my branch of the family has always known that."

Didier raised an eyebrow at the man across the table from him. "Perhaps it is time we shake things up?"

Henri leaned back in his chair. "Perhaps," he agreed with a smirk. "But we shall have to carefully judge the lay of the land first."

The sound of Didier's chair scraping across the wood floor was hardly noticed by the other patrons in the rather noisy, slightly overcrowded inn. "And we shall never discover how that land lies, if we remain here." Didier stood. "To Chagny?" he asked.

Henri stood, as well. "To Chagny."

The two men strode out of the inn, moving across the yard to gather their horses from the stables. They mounted the expensive horse flesh - chestnut brown for Didier and dappled grey for Henri - and carefully walked their horses from the yard of the inn. They allowed the horses to continue the easy walk through the village, nodding at passing acquaintances in the street. Once they reached the edge of the village, the two men exchanged glances, grinned at each other and dug their heels into their horses' flanks.

Henri and Didier laughed as they raced each other over the country lanes that led from the small village to Chagny. They rode side-by-side down the narrow lanes, guiding their horses into the surrounding woods and meadows when confronted with an obstacle in their way. They jumped their horses over fences and splashed them through small streams. They raced around trees and ducked under low-hanging branches. They startled farm animals earning them shouted curses and shaking fists from the herdsmen. Neither man paid attention to the havoc left in their wake and those in that wake knowingly shook their heads once their rattled nerves calmed down. Henri de Chagny and Didier de la Censiere were well known to the local populace who thought them nothing but a couple of hooligans. If it had not been for the respect in which their families were held, Henri and Didier might have found themselves at the wrong end of a hickory stick. Or a fist.

Finally, though, every race has to come to a close and the race that Henri and Didier had been playing out over the French countryside came to an end as they turned their mounts into the birch lined lane that led to Chagny. The two slowly walked their tired horses up the long drive, stopping to take in the sight as the mansion came into view.

"Damn fine property," Didier said. "Always thought so. Always will." He turned to look at Henri who was staring in rapt admiration. "You think so, too."

"Yes, I do," Henri replied softly and emphatically. He turned to look at his companion. "But I can covet something that belongs to my family even if it will earn me extra time in purgatory. Your family has been coveting this for years."

"Well, they did until Xavier and Philippe kissed and made up," Didier replied and turned back to look at Chagny sitting amidst emerald lawns and ancient trees, bright flowers poking their heads out from shadowed undergrowth. "Now it is just me to carry on with the family coveting."

Henri laid a friendly hand on his friend's leg. "And me. Don't forget me."

Didier laughed and shook his head. "How can I ever do such a foolish thing." He turned to look at Henri and grew serious. "Do you wish me to accompany you?"

"No," Henri told him. "I think I had best brave the beasts by myself. I shall see you at dinner tonight, yes?"

"I would not miss it for all the barmaids in France!" Didier told him with a huge grin. He turned his horse and rode off leaving Henri to look at the mansion looming before him.

"Time to go," he said and put a bright grin on his face as he rode toward the entry.

Henri finished riding the rest of the way down the lane, stopping his horse at the bottom of the stairs that cut through the gardens that rolled gently down from the mansion. He dismounted and slipped the reins through a hitching post knowing that someone would be along shortly to take his horse to the stables. Henri climbed the stairs, pausing at the top to turn and look out over the landscape spreadbefore him.

"Covet, indeed," he whispered to himself before turning and approaching the door.

"Monsieur," the valet said as he opened the door, granting Henri access to the house.

Henri clasped the man warmly on the shoulder. "And how are you, Georges? Still here I see."

"I am as ever, Monsieur," Georges replied in an even tone. He was used to Henri's mannerisms and did not take offense or let it mar the fluidity of his daily life. "Your bags have been sent to your usual room and Monsieur le Comte is working in his study."

"My cousin and his wife?" Henri inquired lightly.

"Monsieur le Vicomte went out riding as is his wont and Madame is in the small parlor."

"I believe I shall go and pay my respects to Madame, first," Henri said with a smile and turned to walk down a long, arched hallway. He did not see the disapproving shake of head from the valet.

Henri stopped before a closed set of double doors. He looked down at himself and did his best to straighten his clothes before raising his hands to ensure his hair was presentable. Henri knocked lightly on one door and opened it upon hearing a female voice call "Come."

"My dear cousin!" Henri exclaimed as he walked into the room to find Christine seated on a chaise covered in paisley fabric, a book open next to her. He crossed the room quickly to take her hands, raising each one to his lips in turn. "You are a sight for weary eyes! How well and beautiful you look!"

"Thank you." Christine gave Henri the best smile she could muster. "And you look well. It has been a long time since Raoul and I have seen you."

"Ah, the busy social life of an eligible bachelor claims most of my time," Henri told her with a sigh. "It draws me away from my beloved family." He helped Christine to her feet. "But I am very glad that Philippe invited all of us here to spend some quiet time together as a family." He kissed Christine on each cheek.

"Still as charming as ever, I see," a voice called from the doorway.

Henri noted the relief in Christine's eyes and knew who it was who stood behind him. He broadened his smile as he turned around. "Raoul," he said warmly. "I was told you were riding!"

Raoul raised an eyebrow at his cousin. "And if I had been here, would you have still been so attentive to my wife?"

Henri put on his shocked face. "But of course!" he replied. "Duty, manners and convention above all!"

Raoul laughed softly as he entered the room and took the hand that Henri extended.

Christine watched them, quietly wiping her hands on the bustle of her skirt and fighting down the nausea that was rising in her throat.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Summary:** Two dinner parties loom on the horizon causing Tallis and Christine to fret over what to wear. Madame Giry and Meg share a quiet conversation and in a garden in the south of France, so do Raoul and Christine..

CHAPTER SIX

"But you must wear it!" Meg was insisting. She sat in the sunny parlor of her mother's home, a light spring shawl resting over her knees, a saucy little hat perched atop her carefully coiffed blonde hair. She was smiling at Tallis, an insistent look on her young face.

Tallis looked at the green dress held in her hands and raised her eyes to Meg. "The dress is very lovely but it is too gracious of a gift." Tallis shook her head. "I could not possibly accept it."

"Oh, I wish you would," Meg sighed. "It is a very lovely dress but the color is not very becoming on me." She turned to smile at her mother who was sitting next to her. "That is what I get for allowing Valery to order my dress."

Madame Giry smiled at her daughter. "It was a well chosen dress, none-the-less." She turned her attention to Tallis. "My daughter is correct when she states that the dress is not well-suited for her and she is also correct when she states the dress is well-suited to you."

Tallis closed her eyes and felt the cool watery satin move in her hands. The dress was more magnificent than anything she had ever owned or would ever hope to own. She opened her eyes once again, looking at the bright green material. She raised worried eyes to Madame. "But I do not know where I would wear such a lovely garment!"

"Oh, pooh," Meg said. "You know that Valery and I will be here for dinner tonight and you can wear it then." Meg twinkled. "And after dinner you can practice your dance steps with my husband. It will give you a chance to wear the dress and to show off what Maman has been teaching you."

Tallis so longed to say yes to the offer that the young Baroness had placed before her. She had seen the pictures of the fairytale princesses in books and had spied from behind trees when the Baron would have guests at his magnificent estate. She had loved the bright colors of the pretty dresses that such women would wear but always knew that such things were not meant for her. It was an idea that took firmer root in Tallis' mind as she grew from a child to a young woman and her figure developed curves that were considerably unfashionable. So Tallis had settled for loosely tied corsets and equally loose fitting dresses that masked a figure any Renaissance painter would have been proud to place upon canvas.

"But who shall play for us?" Tallis wondered as she looked at Madame. "I cannot possibly dance in something like this to the beat of a metronome!"

"Be glad it is not the beat of a walking stick," Meg told her and blushed under her mother's gaze. "Not that such a thing was at all disagreeable."

Madame Giry sighed. "Ah, the things I discover about my ballet rats." She reached out and lightly touched her daughter's hand. "Even my own daughter." She turned her attention back to Tallis. "Monsieur Herrin has agreed to join us for dinner this evening and he shall be playing."

"Oh," Tallis replied softly. She thought quietly for a moment and turned to again look at Meg. "I shall accept the dress and I thank you."

Meg clapped her hands together. "Oh, well done! I am sure that it shall look positively splendid upon you!"

Tallis lowered her head, a soft smile on her face. "If you will excuse me, I shall go and put this in my room before anything happens to it."

She left the room, quietly closing the door behind herself, leaving Meg and her mother to converse in peace.

"That was very sweet of you, my dear," Madame told her daughter.

"Well," Meg replied, "I am rather fond of Tallis and the dress really was unbecoming on me." She sighed happily. "Valery does mean well but he is completely inept when it comes to dressing his wife and I see no sense in letting a perfectly lovely dress go to waste." She smiled at her mother. "You taught me well."

"I am surprised that you ever listened to anything I had to say to you." Madame Giry shook her head. "You were ever a headstrong lass."

"I wonder where I could possibly have learned such a thing," Meg replied in an innocent tone.

"Marguerite," her mother playfully warned.

Mother and daughter shared a laugh And then Madame grew serious.

"Your husband does understand about tonight," she wondered.

"Maman," Meg sighed in a tone familiar to all daughters, "how many times have Valery and I been here for dinner when he has been here? Valery has sworn not to say anything and to give what protection he can to Erik. My husband is not a man who gives his word lightly."

Madame Giry shook her head and rose, going to stand next to the window. Her hand reached out and pulled back a drape so that she could look toward the woods at the back of her property. Toward the village where Erik lived. "It is different now."

Meg looked puzzled. "Different how?"

"He heard us speaking the last time you were here and wondered if the couple you spoke of was Raoul and Christine."

"Oh, Maman," Meg said as she leaned backwards on the divan. She turned worried eyes to her mother as Madame returned her gaze to the room. "You did not tell him it was, did you?"

"Use your inquisitive brain, Marguerite," Madame said. "Do you really think I would wish to see him anywhere near Christine again? I love them both but together they are like a fire that will consume itself." She thought for a moment. "No, it is much better and safer for Christine to be with Raoul."

"Safer?" Meg exclaimed. "Do you think she went with Raoul because it was safer?"

Madame returned to sit next to her daughter. "I know Christine loves her husband but I also know she went with him because he made her feel safe.' She took Meg's hand to pat it. "There is much to be said for feeling safe with the one you marry."

"Did you feel safe with Father?"

Madame Giry's expression grew soft. "Yes. Your father was a kind and gentle man who made me feel safe and loved. He had a special way of wrapping me in a warmth that was ... that was incredible."

"That is how I feel with Valery," Meg agreed and she frowned. "I thought that was how Christine felt about Raoul."

"Have you heard from them?" Madame wondered.

"No," Meg told her. "I saw Christine the day before they left for Chagny and she was still being secretive. I am worried about her. I am worried about both of them."

"Perhaps Raoul's brother will be able to help them work out their problems."

"Perhaps." Meg bit her bottom lip. "You do not think that Christine is thinking of ..."

"No," Madame was emphatic. "I do not believe that Christine would ever do that to either Raoul or to herself; that is part of her past. As much as I love Christine and look upon her as a daughter, I also know her faults and she would never have been able to love Erik in the way in which he needs to be loved. I also know Erik's faults and he needs a strong woman who will love him for the man he is while not tolerating any of his nonsense."

Meg sat silently, her lips pursed tightly, before giving her mother a little grin. "I hope that one day I shall be as wise as you."

"It is to be hoped," Madame replied, standing as her daughter stood.

They linked arms and walked out of the sunny parlor. Mother and daughter stopped by the front door, Meg giving her mother a quick embrace.

"Seven tonight," Madame reminded her. "I know how you have developed a liking for being fashionably late but this is not a Paris salon and I expect you to be on time."

"Yes, Maman," Meg replied with a smile on her face. She kissed her mother's cheek. "Valery and I shall be here at seven."

Madame Giry opened the door and watched as her daughter was handed into the waiting carriage by a liveried footman. She waved and stood watching as the carriage moved down the small drive before turning onto the broad thoroughfare, merging into the traffic of early afternoon. She turned back to the house, closing the door behind her. She looked quizzically at Tallis who was standing in the middle of the staircase.

"Are you sure the dress is appropriate for this evening?" she wondered.

And hundreds of miles away, in the southwest of France, another young woman was asking the same question.

"Are you sure casual dress is appropriate for the evening?" Christine asked as she stared at the gaily colored clothes in her wardrobe.

"Monsieur le Comte insists," the young maid replied.

Christine reached in and pulled out a dark violet dress covered over with lilac embroidered lace that she had worn to an afternoon tea. She handed the dress to the maid. "Please see that this is pressed," she told the girl.

"_Oui, Madame,"_ the girl replied. "And I shall see that the lace is carefully dealt with." She smiled and dropped a small curtsey before leaving the room.

Christine stood alone for a moment, suddenly feeling rather ill at the prospect of the evening's upcoming activities. She was not looking forward to spending time with Henri and her feelings of apprehension were only heightened by the knowledge that his friend would also be supping with them. She longed to turn to her husband with her fears but Christine had seen the way Raoul had greeted his cousin and knew that that door was closed to her. She sighed heavily and prayed for the strength to smile warmly through the evening's festivities. Christine just prayed for an evening wherein she could feel like her old self again. But suddenly all she could feel was her head spinning and the nausea threatening to overwhelm her again. Christine closed her eyes, reaching out a hand to rest against the wardrobe in an effort to steady herself. She took several deep breaths to steady her nervous stomach and Christine could sense the nausea take its sickening waves from her body. She braved opening one eye and whenshe noticed that the room had stopped spinning, she opened her other eye and carefully removed her hand from the wardrobe.

"Oh," she breathed in relief as the world around herreturned to normal. "I need some fresh air," she said as she raised a slightly trembling hand to her forehead and felt the clammy skin there. "Yes, air would be good." Christine slowly walked across the room and wandered down the main staircase and out onto the back portico.

Christine walked to the edge of the portico, closed her eyes and inhaled deeply a smile crossing her delicate features. Instead of the smokey, rather pungent odor of Paris, Christine smelled only warm earth and an elusive floral scent. She inhaled deeply again, reveling in the soothing effect that the rich, natural odors brought to her nervous stomach and slightly aching head. Christine opened her eyes and walked the two steps down the portico to stand in the warm spring sun. She lifted her head and felt warmth invade her body chasing away the last nauseous wave, the last hammer pounding at her skull. She lowered her head and saw a bird perched on a nearby branch looking at her, its head moving side-to-side as its bright black eyes studied her.

"Hello," Chrstine said.

The bird's head stopped moving and it whistled at her.

Christine smiled and repeated the bird's song almost as if she were singing an aria.

The bird hopped twice uponits branch, gave a last twitter and flew off into the afternoon sun.

Christine watched it fly away and turned her attention to the gardens about her. She began to walk through them, seeing the bright yellow daffodils waving in the gentle breeze, all the different tulips with their faces raised to the sky. Christine had not known that a tulip could come in so many colors and with so many different petals; it made her feel happy and carefree. She continued to wander about the flower beds, occasionally bending over to inhale a flower that caught her particular attention. Christine tried to remember the scents she experienced for when she returned to Paris and could visit her favorite perfumery for this was a moment in time that she wished to capture forever. It was a moment of peace wherein Christine felt full and content and more like herself than she had felt in several weeks. Even worrying thoughts of an evening spent with Henri and his friend could do nothing to chase away the contentment Christine was feeling.

Distant voices intruded upon Christine's peaceful revery and she raised her head in their direction. A strange combination of fear and desire spread throughout her body as she noticed Raoul and his brother walking in from the direction of the stables. The two men were deep in conversation and did not immediately see her standing in the gardens for which Christine was thankful for it gave her a chance to observe them.

Raoul and Philippe were walking close to each other, their gently spoken words carried along on the breeze that blew from behind them. Philippe was lightly tapping a riding crop against his thigh and Raoul was slipping off riding gloves, tucking them into his belt. Christine studied Philippe for a moment, once again taking note of the strong resemblance to his brother, knowing that Raoul would look like that in another twenty years. Christine sighed wistfully as she thought of her husband with greying temples and a smile that would crinkle the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes. Philippe was dignified and elegant even in the simple riding outfit which he now wore and Christine knew that Philippe was just as dignified and elegant on the inside. He was intelligent and observant and patient. And he was leaning toward his brother, saying something that caused both of them to laugh.

Christine shook her head and bit back the tears she felt at the corners of her eyes. How long had it been since she had seen Raoul look that happy or laugh with such carefree abandon? Christine thought her husband suddenly look five years younger and it was a moment she committed to memory. Raoul was her fairytale prince, her knight in shining armor, her savior and yet Christine also knew the man behind the outward appearance. She knew the smart young man who carefully handled their money so that they would never want for anything. She knew the handsome, polite man on whose arm she had been introduced to and enjoyed Paris society; the gracious man who never had a mean word for or about anyone. It was the man who managed their staff with equal respect and had taught her how to do the same. And Christine knew the compassionate lover with the gentle hands who could bring the very stars down from the heavens for her. The man who held her through her nightmares, those same hands rubbing away the tension from her shoulders and drying her tears. Christine knew Raoul as the best friend who indulged her every whim without question and without thought for himself.

And she sighed, praying to God that she could find the strength to tell him what she knew. She fervently prayed that she would find the fortitude to bear the look in his eyes when she told him. Yet Christine knew it was all in vain for she could not bear to see the disappointment in her husband's eyes when she failed him. And she knew she would fail him. She had failed everyone in her life. She had not lived up to her father's expectations of her. She had betrayed her angel. Her actions had destroyed the opera house and ruined the lives of everyone who had worked and lived there. The last thing Christine needed was to fail the one person in the world who had never failed her. Christine briefly closed her eyes and knew she would keep her secret until she could no longer do so, knowing that with passing time she would gain strength that would allow her to bear the disappointment and sorrow in Raoul's eyes should she fail him.

"Christine?" a familiar voice asked.

Christine kept her eyes closed for a moment as she inhaled deeply through her nose, putting a warm smile on her face. "Raoul," she said as she opened her eyes. She turned her head to smile at Philippe. "Philippe."

Philippe gave her a small smile as he placed a gentle hand on her arm. "I am glad to see you out and about. And with a bit of color in those pale cheeks." He turned and winked at his brother. "It would seem you are not the only one who finds the gardens restorative." Philippe took his hand back. "I believe I shall go and check on the preparations for tonight's meal and give you two lovebirds some time alone."

Philippe walked off, whistling to himself and disappeared into the house, one last backwards glance at his brother and wife standing alone in the garden. Philippe raised his eyes to the sky. "Do not make me lock them in a room," he said to God.

Christine had been losing herself in her husband's eyes and had paid little attention to Philippe as he walked off. "Did you have a lovely ride?" she asked softly, trying to extract herself from the spell in which Raoul's blue eyes always wrapped her.

"Very nice," Raoul replied, pleasure rising in his chest as he noted his wife's pink cheeks and glowing eyes. She almost looked like her old self.

"Where did you ride?" Christine felt Raoul's hand reach for hers and did not pull away.

"There is a long abandoned trail some distance from the stables," Raoul replied as his fingers intertwined with his wife's and his heart filled and broke at the feeling. "It winds through some woods and fields and no one rides there anymore. It has long been a favorite of mine." He did not let go of Christine's hand and smiled at her in wonderment when she did not take her hand back. "And what have you done this day?"

Tell him, tell him, tell him, the logical voice in Christine's head was chanting. The voice was drowned out by her fears. "I have been worrying over what to wear this evening," Christine said truthfully and shook her head. "It is very strange to be dressing for dinner in a casual manner." She smiled up at her husband. "That is not what you taught me."

"Had my parents been alive," Raoul told her, "we would be dressing formally for dinner."

Christine raised an eyebrow at her husband. "Had your parents been alive, I doubt I would be your wife."

Raoul tilted his head to one side as a frown creased his refined features. "You would have been my wife had my parents been alive, if I would have had to go to the ends of the earth to find you, had Satan himself stood in my way." He gently squeezed the hand he held. "I was incomplete until that night I saw you singing. You made me realize what it was that I had been searching for, what it was that I needed." Raoul lifted his wife's hand to his lips and kissed it gently. "You make me complete."

Christine could feel her fears grip wrap tighter about her heart. "Oh Raoul," she sighed. "What did I ever do to deserve you?"

"I could ask the same question," Raoul told her, "and I doubt either of us will find the answer until we are in Heaven and can see God's plan for our lives clearly laid before us."

"Mmmm," Christine murmured, wondering if God would ever forgive her for what she was doing. "You will always see the good things in life and beyond."

Raoul chuckled. "It is failing."

"It is a wonderment," Christine corrected him and reached in for a kiss. She knew it was a risk to her resolve but could not resist the sparkle in her husband's eyes or the alluring temptation of his smiling lips.

Raoul could not resist either and Christine felt his arms go about her. His breath soft and warm against her ear. "I love you so much," he whispered.

Christine found she could not think. "I ... I ... I ..." she said as she struggled to find her way through the fears that gripped her so tightly. She felt Raoul draw back.

"It's all right," he said. "I understand."

Christine leaned her head into his chest. "I know you do," she whispered knowing he did not, "but there are times when I wish you would not." Christine felt Raoul's fingers under her chin, lifting up her head.

"I cannot be something I am not," Raoul told her sadly, shaking his head.

"I do not wish you to be," Christine assured him.

"Thank you," Raoul said as he placed a kiss on Christine's forehead. "I shall hold to that."

Christine took her husband's hand again. "And me. Please hold to me."

"Forever," Raoul breathed as he searched his wife's face.

And from the window of his study that looked out over the garden, Philippe watched the interaction between Raoul and Christine. He turned back to the room, a small smile on his face. "There is yet a hope that I may not need that locked room."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Summary:** Two separate dinner parties begin.

CHAPTER SEVEN

"Do try and behave tonight," Xavier warned Didier as the coach in which they rode turned into the lane that led to Chagny.

"I shall be on my best behavior," Didier assured him, a hand reaching down to smooth the sleeve of his claret colored jacket. "Not a coarse or unkind word shall pass these lips."

Monique eyed her young cousin as he smiled at warmly at her. "You know what he means," she said, completely unswayed by his attempt at charm.

Didier nodded and placed the hand that had been smoothing his sleeve over his heart. "I promise to restrain myself when it comes to the imbibing of the fine wines that are known to grace the dinner table at Chagny."

Monique sighed in disgust and turned her gaze out the window.

Xavier placed a reassuring touch on her arm, feeling the warmth from the hand that crept over his. "Just do not make a fool of yourself." He raised an eyebrow at his cousin. "Or us."

Didier knew that look and it quickly sobered his playful mood. "I promise I shall not let you down."

"Good," Monique said under her breath as she turned her gaze from the outside world, "because we have just arrived.

Xavier looked around his wife as the carriage stopped and their footman jumped down from where he rode on the back to open the door. "You must give Philippe credit for he has done wonders with this place since he returned to live here full time."

And inside the house that was so lovingly cared for by Philippe, Christine gave a last glance into her mirror and nodded at her reflection; the lilac dress was one of her favorites and she had not worn it for months. Christine ran nervous hands over the lace, twitching the dress into place, feeling rather uncomfortable in what normally made her feel beautiful. The nausea that had disappeared earlier in the day had returned as she was dressing and Christine had asked the maid to not pull her corset as tight as fashion dictated. She turned from the mirror with the thought that perhaps that was why she was feeling so uncomfortable - she was going against every dictate of Society that Raoul had so patiently taught her. Christine shook her head, worrying that this was all wrong in spite of everything Raoul and Philippe had told her and she was about to disappoint someone she loved again. She sighed and crossed the room, stopping at her door, her hand gripping the handle tightly as the room in front of her began to spin and the nausea once again rose in her throat.

"Not now," Christine muttered between clenched teeth as she willed the sick spell away. She inhaled deeply, exhaling slowing before opening her eyes and the door to her room. Christine stepped into the hallway and walked down the winding staircase to the first floor. As voices began to waft their way upwards, Christine paused at the last turn in the stairs, peaking around the corner to look at the people gathered at the bottom of the stairs.

Philippe had his hand on the arm of a tall red-haired man his own age and they were laughing. Raoul was being embraced by a woman with exceedingly dark hair and they were both smiling. And standing slightly apart from them were Henri and another young man with the same red hair as the man standing with Philippe. Christine could feel a bit of her nervousness fade as she noticed that none of the men were wearing ties and the woman was dressed much the same as herself - an afternoon dress that should have been shed two hours ago. Christine put a smile on her face and finished descending the stairs.

"Ah, the lovely Christine," Xavier said as he turned his attention from Philippe to smile at Christine.

Christine reached for the extended hands and accepted the kisses Xavier placed on both cheeks. "I do not think I have seen you since our wedding," she said. "We have missed you."

Xavier returned the warm smile. "It is a failing of the old, I am afraid; I find I would rather have the peace and quiet the country affords. The whirlwind that Paris presents is too hectic of a pace for one of my age."

Monique released Raoul and embraced Christine. "It is so lovely to see you again," she said and drew back to smile at her husband. "Do not let him pull the wool over your eyes, my dear. My husband would rather be here with Philippe where they can both play 'Lord of the Manor' then in Paris where they would be discarded in favor of the younger, more handsome men." She pointedly turned to Raoul and smiled.

"I do believe that leaves us out," Henri pouted.

"Quite so," Didier agreed and turned his attention toward Christine. "Ah, the fickleness of the female heart," he declared.

Christine fought down the urge to roll her eyes and instead concentrated on the calm self-assurance emanating from her husband. If Raoul saw some good in these two boys, so could she. Christine turned to look at Henri and Didier and flashed them a brilliant smile. "I think everyone of the men tonight is quite handsome and would set any woman's heart a-flutter." Christine felt a familiar touch on her back and let the flutter the gentle pressure created in her veins flow freely, wrapping her in its warmth, softening her smile; she had done the right thing, said the correct words. She had not disappointed.

Henri and Didier exchanged winks before Didier walked over to Christine. "I am Didier de la Censiere," he said.

"I know," Christine told him. She felt a bit of her husband's assurance strengthen her own confidence. "Henri has had nothing but nice things to say about you."

Didier looked crestfallen. "Then he lies and I am doomed."

Xavier quietly cleared his throat. The message was not lost on his young cousin.

"Pray forgive my poor attempt at humor," Didier apologized to Christine. "I am very delighted to meet you and I must admit that Raoul is very lucky to have found you first."

"Truer words were never spoken," Raoul said softly, smiling at Christine as she looked over her shoulder at him.

Christine turned back to smile at Didier, suddenly feeling calm and relaxed as the nausea that had been plaguing her melted away. "It was not a poor attempt," she told him, "and you are forgiven." She took his arm. "You may escort me into dinner."

Didier brightened considerably and finally wore an honest smile on his face. "There is hope for me yet."

Monique linked her arm through Philippe's. "As long as it is the lady's option to pick her gallant, I believe I shall choose you this evening."

Philippe gave her a slight nod. "I am feeling quite honored."

Xavier sighed dejectedly and turned to look at Henri and Raoul. "I believe we are on our own, gentlemen."

Henri was quick to note the look that passed through his cousin's eyes. It also did not escape Xavier.

"I am sorry," Xavier said as he leaned towards Raoul.

"Do not worry over it," Raoul told him softly so that Christine would not hear. "Tonight is not the time."

"I just want you to know that I am here if you should ever feel the need to have speech with someone besides your family."

"You are family," Raoul told him, "and I think I should like that."

They were interrupted by the appearance of Arthur, Philippe's assistant. "Dinner," he announced, "is ready."

"I am so hungry," Christine said as she smiled at Didier.

Philippe looked back over his shoulder. "I think you will be pleasantly surprised by what I have planned."

Henri raised an eyebrow. "You?" He wondered. "I thought Mathilde ran this house."

Philippe laid a hand over his heart. "My secret is out. I am only an illusion to cover the real people who run this house," he winked at Arthur, "and my life."

"It is a difficult challenge that I accept with good grace," Arthur replied with a perfectly straight face.

Raoul and Henri failed in choking back their laughter.

Philippe looked at the woman on his arm. "I think we should go to dinner," he looked back at his young brother and cousin who were holding onto each other and laughing, "before I sink any lower in my family's eyes." Philippe turned back and led Monique down the hall, trusting everyone would follow.

The doors opened to the family dining room which was much smaller and far more casual than the formal dining room. A highly polished table capable of seating ten people was set for eight. Elegant crystal and white bone china surrounded by gleaming silver sat in front of each of the eight chairs that were upholstered in blue linen. Matching draperies hung over the two windows and were pulled back to let in the light of the full moon. Additional light was supplied by the soft glow of the chandelier that had recently been fitted with gas lamps. The floral scent from the arrangement of tulips mingled with the rich aroma of chicken and the earthy aroma of vegetables and herbs.

"How lovely," Monique said.

Philippe let go of her arm and moved to his normal seat at the head of the table. He smiled in contentment as family and friends found their place cards and gathered around his table. Philippe caught Arthur's eye as Arthur took his place opposite from Philippe and they turned their heads at each other. Philippe was beyond pleased to have his dining table full, the chatter of loved ones filling his ears. And Arthur was pleased for his friend for he knew that no matter how strongly Philippe declared his love of being back at his ancestral home and lands there were times when he would sink into quiet depression at the silence that surrounded him.

Arthur turned his attention to Monique who was sitting to his left between Henri and Didier and smiled inwardly. If there was anyone who would be able to keep those two wayward boys in line it would be the dignified and quietly strong Monique. Arthur glanced at this right and saw Christine seated between her husband and Xavier and she was actually smiling. Arthur returned his glance towards the head of the table and nodded slightly at Philippe; perhaps there was hope in this dinner party after all.

Hope, with all her endless possibilities and dreams, was also present in Madame Giry's house that night. She was the shadow watching from the corner as Tallis patiently sat in front of her vanity allowing Madame to brush her hair.

"Ribbon, please," Madame said as she held out her hand.

Tallis picked up a green ribbon from the vanity top and placed it into Madame's hand.

Madame drew the front sides of Tallis' rather nondescript hair back from her face and wrapped the ribbon between and around the strands tying it in a bow. She rested her hands on Tallis' shoulders for a moment. "That reminds me of when I would dress Meg's hair before her ballet lesson. Thank you, my dear."

Tallis sighed. "No, thank you for I never know what to do with my hair." She smiled rather crookedly. "It was never a priority when I was growing up and I never thought it would be a priority as an adult." Tallis stood and looked down at the green satin that encased her figure. The simple dress accentuated her hourglass figure and brought out the few subtle gold strands in her brown hair, the silver flakes in her grey eyes. Tallis was still uncertain and raised a worried face to Madame.

"I am not sure that I belong ..." she began with a shake of her head.

Madame hissed in disgust. "I shall have none of that foolishness tonight," she warned and her tone grew softer. "You are more than a hired companion." She laid a friendly hand on Tallis' arm. "You have become my friend over this last year and I wish for you to enjoy this evening." There was no answer. "Yes?"

Tallis returned to studying her feet. "Yes, ma'am," she said softly.

"Good," Madame replied and was interrupted by the sound of the front door knocker. "I must retrieve something from my room, would you be so good as to let our guests in?"

"Yes, ma'am," Tallis repeated, allowing Madame to lead her from her room. They parted ways at the top of the stairs and Tallis descended the carpeted risers, crossing to open the front door. "Good evening," she said as she stepped aside to let Erik into the home.

Erik studied the young woman as she closed the door behind him, turning to face him.

Tallis raised an eyebrow at him. "This is the first time I have seen you at a loss for words."

"This is the first time I have seen you looking quite so lovely," Erik replied softly. "And without your arms covered in flour up to your elbows," he added.

Tallis crossed her arms over her chest. "Thank you for the complement," she replied with a smile that was anything but sweet. "And it is nice to see you know how to use the front door like a normal person."

"What gives you the right to assume I am a normal person?" Erik wanted to know.

"What gives you the right to assume I am assuming anything?" Tallis blinked at him.

"Children," a voice warned from the staircase.

Erik and Tallis looked toward that voice and saw Madame frowning at them. If it had been possible for two adults to squirm like children caught in a lie, Erik and Tallis would have needed to hold onto each other in order to remain standing.

"I should go and check on the meal," Tallis said quietly.

"Have a care for the dress," Madame called after her as Tallis headed for the kitchen and turned her attention to Erik.

"Shall we?" he asked as he extended his arm.

"I should be delighted," Madame replied as she finished descending the stairs and took Erik's arm. She allowed him to lead her into the parlor. Madame took a seat as Erik moved to the small buffet that sat against one wall.

"Would you like a sherry?" he wanted to know.

"I would," Madame replied and was quiet as Erik poured the amber liquid into a small glass before walking over to the sofa and handing her the glass. Madame took a sip, feeling the sherry trickle its warmth down her throat. "It is an indulgence, I know," she said, "but I must admit I have grown quite fond of it since I have become a lady of leisure."

"I still have trouble picturing you as a lady of leisure, Antoinette," Erik said.

Antoinette took another sip of sherry and thought for a moment. "I think that is why Meg and Valery hired Tallis for they knew I could never truly be comfortable were I at leisure. It has been quite nice having Tallis here to teach for she is so eager to learn." She caught and held Erik's eye. "I am fond of that young woman and she is a woman, Erik. She is not a child who you can play games with; she is a woman in her mid-twenties who is grounded and intelligent and honest."

"She is intelligent enough to always have a comment for everything I say," Erik replied.

"Do you ever give her a chance to do otherwise?" Antoinette wanted to know. There was no reply and Antoinette placed the sherry glass on the side table and took Erik's hand in her own. "I have known you for over twenty years now. I have watched you grow into a rather capable man who fought against the darkness to become self-educated and talented. And I know your darkness and I love you in spite of it."

"I still fight against it," came the whispered reply.

Antoinette nodded. "I know that. And that is why I would have you treat Tallis with a bit more care."

"She can handle herself," Erik grumped.

"She can," Antoinette agreed. "But you do not see what I see."

"And what is that?" Erik wondered.

"Tallis is still that country girl dreaming of a world beyond her reach. Now she has that world and she is uncertain that she belongs in her own dreams. She is much like you for she has built a wall about herself to protect her heart and dreams from breaking." Antoinette sighed. "I would not see her broken."

Erik was silent. "I am not that man any longer."

"I know."

"I wonder if you do," Erik said. "Tallis is the first woman," he smiled at the woman sitting next to him, "outside of you who has not turned from me upon first glance. From the first moment you introduced us, she has treated me as a human being, as friend. It is something to which I am not accustomed and I find it rather strange. I also find her very intelligent and her witty comments allow me to keep my mind honed, if only in order to hold my own with her."

The sound from the door knocker once again echoed through the house.

"I would never willingly hurt her, Antoinette," Erik said.

"It is the unwilling, unknowing part of you that I worry about."

"I am glad that someone is there to worry about me." Erik sighed. "And you need not worry about Tallis for I sincerely have no wish to hurt her."

What Antoinette may or may not have said in reply was cut off by the opening of the parlor door allowing Meg to sweep into the room. Meg rushed over to embrace her mother and she turned her bright smile on Erik.

"I am so glad you decided to join us this evening!" She bubbled. "It will be wonderful to have you to play for us after dinner!"

"I was very glad to receive the invitation," Erik said softly as he rose to take Meg's hand in his own. He let her go and fixed his eyes on the couple who stood just inside the doorway.

Tallis had her arm linked through that of the Baron de Castelot-Barbezac. The tall man was looking down at her, talking softly. Erik noted the look on Tallis' face and knew that Valery had brought news of her family for only such a thing would bring that soft light to her eyes and that glow to her cheeks. Erik willed down the memory that was crawling out from the dark reaches of his mind, a memory of another young woman on the arm of another perfectly handsome nobleman. That was different, he reminded himself. Valery was married to Meg and Tallis was the child of his trusted retainer. They were not in love. They could not be in love. They were just comfortable acquaintances, Erik reminded himself.

And Tallis was his friend he tried assuring his doubting heart and mind.

But the fears and doubts began to fly away as Erik rose to cross the room.

Tallis was the friend who raised her head toward him as he offered greetings to the Baron, smiling happily at him, her hands behind her back. She was the friend who drew him into their private conversation, telling him the news that had come from her parents. Tallis was the friend who willingly took his arm so that he could lead her into dinner, never once turning away as he caught and held her gaze. She was the friend who softly thanked him as he seated her at the table, crossing around to take the seat opposite her.

Erik studied Tallis from across the dinner table. He studied her outward calm, her attentiveness to the matters at hand. He found himself drawn into those quietly intelligent grey eyes and the way they made one the center of the universe. As Tallis caught him staring at her, she did something no other woman had ever truly done – she smiled at him. She smiled at him with a warmth that came from her very soul, radiating outwards from her soft lips and sparkling eyes. And Erik realized that it was true; that for the second time in his life he had been given a gift that so few were fortunate to find.

Tallis was his friend. She was truly his friend.

And suddenly Erik felt a content fullness that no meal could ever create.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Summary:** A dinner party at Chagny and a family history revealed.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Dinner had begun quietly over small bowls of aromatic chicken soup upon which the cook floated delicate baby watercress. The warm gold of the broth reflected the warm glow from the overhead chandelier and filled those who partook with their own golden warmth. They spoke softly around their food, beginning to share the small talk of every dinner party. Empty bowls were removed by the silent, living shadows who easily moved about the room, between the people, replacing the warmth of the soup with the earthiness of an herbal salad whose greens had been plucked that very morning. The tangy bite left in the mouth by the herbs spiced up the conversation, drawing out a bit of the lives kept carefully guarded behind stone walls. As they waited for the main course to arrive from the kitchen, the silent shadows moved about the table pouring warm red wine into crystal goblets - save for one. The young woman had placed her hand over her goblet, refusing the red wine. She had politely sipped at the white wine offered with the soup and salad and now she insisted she only wished for water. Her actions caused the man seated beside her to gaze upon her with a puzzled concern that quickly fled in the light of her warm smile and calm reassurance. The moment quickly came and went barely noticed by any of the others around the table except for the woman who sat opposite her. She had noticed and decided to keep her own counsel for there would be time enough to speak later.

Any further concerns or thoughts were chased away by the sight of the two large crocks being brought into the room. They were carefully placed on either side of the floral arrangement in the center of the table and their lids removed, the steam rising from the food inside filling the room with an aroma that would have made an angel cry. Inside each crock was a plump chicken surrounded by fresh peas and tiny heads of lettuce, a light, buttery sauce with flecks of fresh herbs finishing the dish. The ooh's and ah's from those seated around the table were quickly replaced by the sound of cutlery against china as short work was made of the chicken and vegetables. Dinner conversation grew around the rich simplicity of a favorite country recipe. They spoke of the latest gossip from both city and country with names from each place being recognized, pondered upon and laughed over. The laughter eventually died down as empty plates were removed and the table was prepared for dessert.

"Dessert?" Raoul wondered. "I do not think I could eat another bite."

Christine looked at her husband in amazement. "I do not think I have ever before heard those words pass your lips," she said.

"At least that has not changed," Xavier said with a chuckle.

"You should have seen him as a child," Monique added. "Raoul had such a sweet tooth! He was always begging us for his favorite treats even as his face and hands were already smudged with chocolate from all those he had already eaten."

"Ha!" Henri laughed and raised his glass in his cousin's direction. "I always knew there was a sneaky little boy in you." He turned to wink at Didier. "Oh the stories I could tell!"

Raoul looked pained. "Please do not!" he pleaded.

"Oh no, Henri," Philippe insisted, playfully glaring at his younger brother. "Pray, do tell, for I fear my wretched sibling has us all deceived.

Henri cleared his throat. "Well," he began, "there was this one time ..." His words were cut short by the opening of the door as dessert was brought into the room.

The tart made from dried fruit and a smooth custard was placed in front of the man seated at the head of the table. Philippe cut it into eight equal slices and the silent shadow who stood at his elbow began to serve the simple dessert to the rest of those seated about the table.

Raoul was feeling a bit uncomfortable under his cousin's twinkling gaze, dreading the secret words that might escape from Henri's lips when the conversation resumed. He was wracking his brain trying to remember something he might safely say in return when he felt a gentle touch on his knee. Raoul turned to see his wife with her head down, a tiny smile on her face. Raoul adjusted the napkin that rested across his lap, his hand brushing against Christine's as he did so, a silent thank you, a brief 'I love you' in the touch. He was gratified to see the color rise in his wife's cheeks.

Christine raised her eyes and looked at Henri. "Please do not tell any stories about my husband in front of everyone." She twinkled at him. "At least not until you share them with me first." She turned to smile at Raoul. "I do believe I have been most grievously deceived."

Henri raised his wine glass to her. "I always honor the request of a lady," he said.

Christine could sense the silent sigh coming from her husband and she quickly winked at him.

"I am to be disappointed - yet again - in my quest to discover my young brother's faults," Philippe said, a smile on his face, as he took a bite of his tart, winking at Raoul

"But where does that leave me? I am to be disappointed as well?" Didier wondered. He caught Christine's gaze and held it. "What task will the fair Christine lay before my feet?"

There was something about which Christine was curious. "What of this mysterious family history I keep hearing about?" She looked around the table, eyes wide and innocent. "I should dearly like to know more than a snippet or two." She was surprised at the look that passed between Philippe and Xavier, the downcast eyes of Monique and the feeling of discomfort that began to emanate from her husband. She was not surprised by the smirks exchanged by Henri and Didier behind Monique's back; those two made her skin crawl.

Any and all thoughts of the two youngest men seated at the table were chased away by the raucous laughter that suddenly came from Philippe and Xavier.

"Oh God," Xavier choked. "Where shall we begin?"

"Who shall begin?" Philippe asked back.

"Once upon a time," Arthur quietly began, "there were two knights in shining armor ..."

Philippe raised his napkin to his lips as he choked and coughed. He looked down the table at Arthur who was sitting perfectly straight, a sober look on his face. Philippe struggled to compose himself and lost the fight, breaking into laughter again.

Arthur shook his head in disgust and turned to look at Xavier who was also losing his battle with his laughter. His glance kept going back and forth between the two men, his lips beginning to twitch and suddenly Arthur fell victim to the same merriment.

"I do not understand," Christine said as she turned to her husband who was also beginning to convulse with laughter. She heard a very audible sigh from across the table and turned her attention to Monique.

"And they think we are the brainless sex," Monique told Christine. Monique placed her dessert fork on her plate, lifted her napkin to wipe at the corners of her mouth, placing it back in her lap and composing herself. "You see, my dear, this story truly did begin with two knights." She frowned at her husband and Philippe. "Although - considering the behavior of our dinner companions - I highly doubt those two redoubtable men wore shining armor."

Xavier inhaled through his nose, composing himself, as he looked across the table at his wife. "You wound me, my dear." He took a sip from his wine glass.

"And me!" Philippe protested.

Monique just stared blankly at her husband and his best friend.

As the laughter around the table died down, Xavier lightly touched Christine's hand. "This is how it began, my dear," he started. "Several centuries ago," he looked at Philippe. "In the fifteen hundred's, yes?"

Philippe nodded. "Yes," he replied and smiled at Christine as she turned to look at him. "During those years France and Austria were fighting over some Italian territories that they both claimed. It was yet another of those impossibly convoluted political games whereby whoever held the land, held the power. And two of our esteemed ancestors fought valiantly for the French king."

Henri and Didier waved their knives at each other, trying and failing to retain any sense of sobriety.

Xavier chose to ignore them as he picked up the tale. "These two men fought so valiantly and so well that the king rewarded them with land that belonged to the crown; this land where we are now. This valley was divided between the two of them - sight unseen, I must add - and when they arrived it became obvious that my ancestor did not get the best of the bargain. We received the rockier, more shaded part of the valley whereas Philippe's ancestor received the sunnier, more easily cultivated side. The first skirmish in the long history of our families went to the Chagny's." He raised his wine glass in Philippe's direction. "And the opportunity to lay claim to the naming rights."

Christine turned her attention to Philippe who had also raised his glass in salute. "Surely that was not the sole cause of the animosity?"

"No, no, no" Philippe assured her, "there is much more to be told. Our two ancestors settled down to truly make this valley what it is today. They worked together - at first - any hurt feelings between them left behind by the task before them. They both married and raised families and when it came time for the next generation to marry that is when trouble once again raised her ugly head in the form of jealousy."

"I believe my ancestor won that battle," Xavier said.

"Yes," Philippe agreed, "the lovely Elena was wedded to your ancestor and the tensions between our families began to grow. There were always the little feuds and disagreements about land boundaries and water rights - even the all too human battles over affairs of the heart. Then came the Religious Wars between the Catholics and the Huguenots and my ancestor was part of the circle around the future Henry the Fourth. When Henry finally succeeded to the throne and the Edict of Nantes was declared, my ancestor became the first Comte de Chagny."

Xavier shook his head and sighed. "That was a cruel blow - indeed - for our family. We, too, had been close to Henry but he would only grant one title for this region. So my family bravely soldiered on, being loyal to king and country." He winked at Philippe. "And our newly titled neighbors." He sighed. "It was not always easy."

"For any of us," Philippe continued. "Our ancestors were always properly polite to each other but they made sure that the family history was passed down." He shook his head. "Every little detail, every snub, every petty disagreement, everything that could be considered an insult was drilled into each child's head. In such a way the animosity was sure to be remembered and felt."

Christine frowned. "That is a horrid way to raise a child!"

Monique nodded at her. "I completely agree, my dear." She shook her head. "Silly men."

"I do not know," Didier replied. "I rather like the idea of being able to cross swords with my enemy."

"It is not as romantic as it sounds," Raoul said softly, turning to smile at his wife as Christine rubbed the back of his arm.

"And it was another romantic entanglement that was the next insult," Xavier went on, looking at Henri. "Only this time it was your family who won."

"It is quite tragic that I did not seem to inherit my family's romantic abilities," Henri replied while looking at Christine.

"But if it had not been for this romantic conquest, your side of the family would never have existed," Philippe told him. "Shortly before the English Restoration - while the English Court was here in France - the youngest de Chagny brother at the time - Antoine - caught the eye of Lady Olivia Morton. Lady Olivia was a favorite of the soon-to-be Charles II. Antoine became Anthony and went to England with a new bride named Olivia."

Xavier sighed and downed the last of the red wine that sparkled in his crystal goblet. "That was an insult my family was not going to let pass." He looked at Philippe. "If I remember correctly, that is when our families became completely estranged." Philippe nodded and Xavier continued their story. "From that point forward any necessary communications between our families were carried out through formal political channels. That does not mean that there were still not the small insults and pettiness that marked this ridiculous feud from the beginning. It went on as such - snubs at court, bickerings at home - for almost another hundred years." Xavier's voice trailed off and his eyes dropped.

His actions caught everyone's attention, even Henri and Didier ceased their softly spoken comments.

"What happened?" Christine breathed.

"This is very hard for me to say," Philippe began as he looked at Xavier. "And I want to apologize before I begin."

"No need," Xavier assured him, "but I thank you."

"A little over a century ago, Paris was quite the glittering capital and the place to be for those with the money and background to enjoy it. Our families were no different and the two heirs at the time - Charles de la Censiere and Maxime de Chagny - were well known about the gaming tables. They played very recklessly considering their positions ..."

Xavier interrupted him. "But that is how it was back then so we cannot fault them. If you were young and privileged, you only thought of yourself and what pleasured you. It seems Charles and Maxime were pleasured by winning and losing vast amounts of money." Xavier smiled across at his wife as she shook her head. "Not even their parents could rein in their reckless ways. It all culminated one evening when the two young men faced each other across a gaming table. Charles was determined to bring Maxime down in front of all their peers and played more recklessly than was his wont."

"He lost his money?" Christine wondered.

"And his life," Didier told her.

"What?" Christine was taken aback.

Raoul laid a gentle hand over his wife's. "The amount of money that Charles lost that night was exceedingly considerable. He felt he could not go home in disgrace and chose to walk the darker streets of Paris alone and unarmed. Charles was accosted and after taking what jewelry he had on his person, the people who robbed him shot him once in the head. Charles was killed instantly. It was said that he took such actions on purpose so that he would not have to face his family."

"That poor man!" Christine exclaimed. "And over money? That does not make any sense. If I had been his mother, I would have understood and welcomed him home."

"That is where men and women differ," Monique told her. "Women will always see the possibilities while men can only see the consequences."

Philippe smiled at Monique. "You always have been the voice of reason."

Monique smiled at him and then at her husband. "It has not always been easy."

"And we thank you for it," Xavier replied, frowning slightly at Henri and Didier. "I should be incredibly displeased were Philippe and I to slip back into our rather misspent youth." He turned to Christine and continued the family history. "After Charles died, the estrangement between our families became complete. Any and all ties - including those done through political channels - were completely severed. Every action, every word from that point forward became a deadly insult that would never be forgotten."

"The last insult was when our father married our mother," Philippe said as he caught his younger brother's eye. "Xavier's father was also interested in her but Maman chose our sire and that was to be the end of it." Philippe turned his attention to Xavier. "Until that day at school when I saw a fellow student being bullied by several older boys. I went to his defense ..."

"And we both got thrashed!" Xavier finished as he and Philippe laughed. "But there is nothing like sitting in the mud, bruised and aching, to form a friendship."

"Even after we discovered who we were," Philippe agreed. "It did not seem to matter what came before. What mattered was us and the friendship we felt."

"Someone had to end all the silly feuding," Xavier replied.

"And we were the perfect ones to do it."

"Of course, we had to keep our friendship a secret from our parents until we were old enough to stand up to them."

Philippe sighed. "Until one of us was old enough to stand up to them. You had a far easier time with your sire than I did with mine."

Xavier nodded. "I must agree with that. Your father was rather formidable and mine was a pussycat compared to him. I think we were lucky he was for I would hate to think what we might have lost had we not been able to meet while we were home from school. You have been my friend for all these years and I am so thankful that you were."

Philippe nodded. "It has been good having you as a friend and being able to lay our family histories to rest. It pains me to think of all that was lost over the centuries; now, though, we have more than made up for those losses."

"Do you remember that vow we made the first summer we were home from school?" Xavier asked and smiled as Philippe nodded. "We met in the woods and cut our fingers to make a blood vow that we would be friends forever and when we were adults we would forget the feud and remember the friendship that had started this valley all those centuries ago."

"I have never forgotten," Philippe said softly.

"And I think you have both done a damn fine job of it, too," Henri said with a smile as he pushed back his chair and raised his glass. "A toast," he said and waited until Raoul and Didier also stood, "to Xavier and Philippe - two men with true nobility of spirit."

"To Xavier and Philippe," those around the table chorused.

The rest of the evening passed quickly as Philippe and Xavier continued to answer questions from a very curious Christine. They were amused by her interest in family history and Christine protested that Raoul had never told her any of this and she merely wished to know the family that had formed her husband's character. That comment had earned chortles from Henri and Didier who both considered Raoul a character. Christine had frowned upon them before taking her husband's arm and smiling up at him. Christine declared that Raoul had the most noble, most gentle character she had ever found in any man. Her words brought a twinkle to her husband's eye and gave Raoul the strength to actually smirk at his cousin and Didier.

"I swear," Didier said quietly to Henri as they stood at the bottom of the stairs waiting for Xavier and Monique to say their goodbyes, "your cousin is very irritating."

"You will not get an argument from me," Henri told him. "There are times when he is too full of himself. I would love to see him taken down, pushed from his pedestal."

Didier raised an eyebrow at him. "In front of his wife, perhaps."

"Definitely in front of his wife," Henri replied as he turned his gaze upwards toward the portico.

"You will come shopping with me in the village?" Monique asked Christine as she drew back from their hug.

"I would be delighted," Christine said.

"We will make it on a day when you are feeling a bit better than you were tonight," Monique said and smiled softly as a frown crossed Christine's face. "I noticed you did not drink your wine."

Raoul chose that moment to come up. "You are not feeling well?" he worried as he took Christine's hand.

"My nerves got the better of me," Christine replied. "I was feeling a bit nauseous tonight."

"Well," Xavier said as he and Philippe approached, "I hope you are no longer nervous of us."

Christine gave him a broad smile and a warm hug. "You have chased all my nerves away."

"I am satisfied then," Xavier told her as he took his wife's arm and turned to Philippe. "Walk us down to the carriage?"

"With pleasure," Philippe said. "I will be back in a moment," he said to Raoul before walking down the stairs with his friends.

"Are you sure you are feeling well?" Raoul asked Christine as he laid a gentle hand upon her cheek.

Christine melted into his touch, feeling some of her determination fade away. She closed her eyes, letting the familiar warmth spread throughout her body. "I am still feeling a trifle ill," she breathed, losing herself in the moment, "would you stay with me tonight?"

"With all my heart," Raoul replied.

Christine suddenly heard the words that had come out of her mouth and knew she was in trouble. She kept her eyes closed, trying to sort her way out of what she had done. She longed to have her husband next to her throughout the night but knew that every single touch of his hands, his lips, would only weaken her resolve and she needed to keep her secret awhile longer yet. Christine wanted Raoul to keep his illusion that his wife was perfect and wonderful and would never let him down. A thought crossed her mind and she opened her eyes.

"Can you just hold me tonight?" she asked, the pleading look in her eyes coming from deep within her soul.

"I will do whatever you wish me to do," Raoul said as a frown crossed his face. "I would never hurt you or force ..." His words were cut off by a finger placed against his lips.

"I know," Christine told him. "I just wish to be held."

"And all I want to do is hold you," Raoul replied as he reached in for a kiss, feeling his wife's arms warmly wrap around his neck. "Forever," he breathed.

_Tell him, tell him, tell him, _Christine's soul echoed to the pulse she felt as she rested her head against Raoul's neck.

_No, no, no,_ her mind called back.

"I love you," Raoul whispered to her as he placed a kiss on her head.

"I know," Christine replied, her heart breaking for both of them.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Summary:** A dinner party at Madame Giry's. A waltz, a folk dance and a moonlit garden.

CHAPTER NINE

Dinner at Madame Giry's was less formal than the dinner that was held hundreds of miles south at Chagny but no less festive. Antoinette and her guests gathered about a round table, a small overhead gas chandelier casting light down upon a table set in shades of ivory china and rose linens. Simple crystal goblets waited for the deep burgundy that glowed from the matching decanter. A hand-crafted casserole sat in the midst of the table, rich, spicy odors wafting upwards when the lid was removed. Inside the colorful crockery Tallis and the cook who came in for special occasions had layered the meats, vegetables and spices that formed the dish Pot au Feu that traced its origins back the ancient Romans who had long ago invaded France.

"This is incredible!" Meg exclaimed as she speared another small carrot. "Where did you learn to cook like this?"

"My mother," Tallis replied simply. "She had to cook for my father, my three brothers, herself, my sister and me." She laughed softly. "My sister and I would not have stood a chance against our brothers if there had not been a large pot of food on the table."

"You learned your lessons well," Valery said. "I do not think we ever had this dish on our dining table." He smiled and shook his head. "Ah, what we were missing."

Antoinette looked at her daughter. "We had dishes similar to this at the opera house."

"Mmmm," Meg moaned and rolled her eyes. "But never this good!" She smiled at Tallis. "You must promise to teach this to our cook." She turned to her husband. "You make her promise."

Valery laid a hand on Meg's arm and turned to the woman sitting to his left. "You can teach this, yes?"

"Yes," Tallis said. "I would love to be able to pass the recipe on." She looked at Erik who was sitting silently across from her. "What do you think of my efforts?"

"I am too busy eating to make a comment," Erik said as another fork full of meat passed his lips.

"That was a comment," Tallis told him as she smiled sweetly. She took a sip of her wine, running the tip of her tongue lightly over her bottom lip.

Erik found he could not form two coherent words as he watched that tiny little pink tip trace its way over the soft fullness of that bottom lip.

"What's the matter?" Tallis asked with a perfectly straight face. "Cat got your tongue?"

Antoinette failed in her effort to choke back her laughter. Her hands held onto the edge of the table as she laughed out loud. She leaned back in her chair, one hand reaching for her stomach as her laughter slowly diminished into a silent, knowing smile.

Meg looked at her mother as if she had lost her mind and turned to her husband who was busy studying the food on his plate. She turned towards Erik and Tallis who were eating their meals, their eyes locked. Meg was utterly amazed at the turn of events. Even two years ago such a comment from any person - including a woman - would have earned a stern rebuke at the least and a rope around the neck at the worst. Meg thought she did not recognize the man seated next to her. This was not the Phantom who had struck such fear into the hearts of those who called the opera home. This was not the twisted, desperate man who had tormented her best friend. This was not the murdering shadow, the demon who rose from unknown depths.

This person now seated next to her was simply a man. He was a man trying to find his way in an unknown world, a world Meg had taken for granted from the moment she had been born. He was a man who would try and falter, falling, only to pick himself up to try once more. Meg also knew he was a man who only had so much trying within himself before he would fall, never to get up again; she could see it in the way he never strayed far from her mother - the one true friend he had in all his life. Her mother was his lifeline but Meg was perfectly aware that her mother's tolerance for foolish behavior extended only so far and Meg had to wonder when her mother would tire of his clinging, his neediness.

But there was a woman on the other side of the table that would be perfectly capable of curing all Erik's problems with one warm smile. Meg watched Tallis from beneath her lashes. Tallis was all innocence, enjoying her meal, acting as if nothing were out of the norm. Meg knew that Erik would want her if only for the reason that she was totally disinterested in him as anything but a friend. He may have been awkward and inexperienced around women but this girl who treated him as if he were a brother would definitely be a challenge. Erik would be like any other man who saw a girl with no romantic interest in him - he would fight until she saw him in a romantic light. Meg laughed silently to herself; it would be amusing and pleasant to watch Erik try to woo Tallis and to watch Tallis play the innocent object the whole time. Meg gave another glance at the woman across the table - there was something in Tallis' eyes when she looked at Erik that was anything but innocent and definitely made him the object in question.

Meg suddenly burst into laughter, startling the now quiet room.

"What is so amusing?" Valery asked as he looked at his wife.

Meg raised her eyes, catching her mother's knowing look and blushing. "I am just being a silly girl who has let her wine go to her head."

"Then, perhaps, it is time to dance it off," Valery suggested and turned his attention to Erik. "You will still play for us, yes?"

"It will be my pleasure," Erik replied as he took his napkin from his lap, dabbed at his lips and placed it on the table. He looked at Tallis. "I believe you have promised to show us what Antoinette has been teaching you."

"I have," she replied. "I am eager to show just how excellent a teacher I have had."

"And the eager and excellent student you have been," Antoinette replied.

Meg was amazed. "A compliment from my mother? You must be an excellent student!"

Valery and Erik stood, pulling out the chairs for their dining companions.

Antoinette frowned playfully at her daughter. "I was always complimentary to my good students."

Meg pouted and her mother and husband laughed at her.

Erik pulled out Tallis' chair and gave her his hand as she stood. "I am expecting to be surprised," he whispered to her.

"I will rise to even your expectations," Tallis whispered back.

"Do you think they are that low?" Erik wondered.

"If they were," Tallis replied with a sweet smile, "I should have already exceeded them by the mere fact that I can walk upright on two feet." She batted her eyes at him. "And all on my own."

Erik sighed and shook his head and led Tallis into the library where the piano awaited them.

Meg was already seated with her mother on a loveseat near to the fireplace. A small fire was burning gently within, just enough to keep the chill from the springevening out of the room. Valery stood behind his wife, his hands gently kneading her shoulders. Erik left Tallis and walked to the piano, sitting on the matching bench. He raised the lid over the keys and gently ran his elegant fingers over the ivory and ebony keys. Erik was transported by the coolness of the keys beneath his skin, the look on his face growing distant and loving; any instrument of music would always take him beyond the cruelty of the real world and into the magic of a world where only beauty existed.

Antoinette watched Erik as he sat at the piano and began caressing the keys. She knew the set of those shoulders and could envision the look on his face within her mind's eye. Music had always been his saving grace, the one thing that could draw out the best in him - the best that she had been privileged to know. Antoinette waited patiently while Erik warmed up, running scales up and down the keyboard; the notes played by a master filling the room with their simplistic beauty. Antoinette looked over her shoulder at her son-in-law and nodded.

Valery leaned over and placed a kiss on his wife's cheek before straightening and extending his hand to Tallis. He smiled at the daughter of his trusted retainer, watching her lower her eyes and blush. "It is all quite proper," he assured Tallis as he led her to the center of the room.

Erik turned partway on the piano bench. "What should you prefer?"

"A waltz, I believe," Antoinette said before anyone else could state their preference.

Erik nodded. "A waltz it shall be." He turned his attention to the couple standing in the middle of the room. "Are you ready?"

Valery had his hands behind his back; he smiled down at Tallis. "Are we ready?" he asked.

Tallis suddenly found she could not trust her voice and nodded.

Valery looked over his shoulder at Erik. "I think we are ready."

"Very well," Erik replied, turning back to the piano. He knew just the piece and his eyes closed as his fingers found their place on the keys.

"Mademoiselle?" Valery asked as he opened his arms.

Meg giggled with happiness as she watched her husband and reached for her mother's hand. She looked at her mother and shook her head. Meg knew that apprising look on her mother's face; Antoinette was watching for any lack of bearing, any falter in step that her student might make.

"This is a waltz," Antoinette reminded Tallis. "You must maintain the shape of a box between you and your gentleman partner."

"Yes, Madame," Tallis nodded as she took the arms that Valery extended. She felt the strong grip of Valery's hand in her own and the warmth of his other hand on her back. Tallis heaved a great sigh and straightened her posture, holding her head high. She looked into the warm brown eyes of the man who employed her father and while she felt a bit strange in his arms, Tallis could also feel her uncertainties melting away. She had been taught well and all she had to do was follow this man's lead.

The music began slowly as it did with most waltzes, allowing the couples to move onto the dance floor, acknowledging their partner and taking their places. The beat began to pick up as Erik's fingers began to move faster over the keys, drawing out the richness of the chords he was playing. Slowly Valery began to move to the music, following the pattern of dance he had been taught since childhood, guiding his partner onto the dance floor and into the crowd. The floor where they danced was, of course, much smaller and there was no crowd but the movements and the emotions were the same. The forming of a box with a turn to the beat of the music. The wistful romance of the music whose beat matched that of the heart.

"So beautiful," Meg leaned over and whispered to her mother. "I wonder if that is how Valery and I look when we dance."

Antoinette, who had seen her daughter dance with her husband, smiled at the child sitting next to her. "My dear, you and Valery appear to float on the clouds when you dance."

Meg gave her mother a quick kiss on the cheek and rested her head on Antoinette's shoulder. "Thank you," she whispered softly, unwilling to break the spell that was being woven.

Erik knew the music he played by heart and hazarded a glance over his shoulder at the couple who easily moved about the center of the room. A familiar pang of jealousy tugged at his heart and he was amazed by it for there was nothing for which he had to feel jealous. Tallis was his friend - she had made that perfectly clear. Even more importantly she was dancing in the arms of a happily married man. Erik drew a breath and turned back to the piano and the music, allowing himself to again be drawn into the spell it wove. He closed his eyes and felt the music move through his blood, coursing through his body but it could not chase away the image in his mind of being the man guiding Tallis through the romantic motions of the waltz.

Tallis had begun the dance, trying desperately to remember all the lessons she had learned under Madame's patient tutelage. She remembered to hold the shape of the box, her back straight, her head held high. She remembered to allow Valery to guide her, following his movements. Tallis had hazarded a glance over to her teacher and felt a swell of pride as Madame had nodded and smiled approval at her. Tallis turned back to her partner, smiling lightly under his pleased gaze. She had seen Erik turn to look at them and she had resisted the urge to wink at him when she had seen the look in his eyes. Tallis had taken pity upon the man for she had learned much of his history from Madame and to see him look at her with such amazement and warmth of feeling was something Tallis had not wished to take from him.

The music began to move faster as it moved to its final crescendo. Erik's fingers danced over the keys and Valery whirled Tallis around the room, his laughter skipping along with the music, the back of her skirt whooshing through the air, fanning the room. Erik gracefully ended the music and Valery bowed to a flushed Tallis who dropped him a gracious curtsey. They all turned towards Antoinette, seeking her approval.

"Brava!" Antoinette said as she took her hand back from her daughter and clapped enthusiastically. "Brava!" she repeated.

Meg jumped to her feet, crossing the room to gently squeeze Tallis' arms, smile at Erik and fling herself into her husband's arms. "You were so brilliant!" she exclaimed.

Tallis walked over to Erik. "Thank you for the incredible music," she said. "Did I meet your expectations?"

"You were adequate," he replied.

Tallis stared at him, her mouth agape. "Adequate?" she repeated.

"What else would you call it when expectations are met?" Erik told her with a smile.

Tallis leaned close so that she could whisper in his ear. "You are deplorable," she said.

"You also remember new words," Erik whispered back.

Antoinette watched the two heads leaning close, knowing they were still acting like small children. She mentally shook herself, willing her senses to stay out of their constant bickering until she was needed. Antoinette knew the two of them would find their own way through this new friendship that was slowly developing. She also knew she would recognize the moment when the friendship broke through the barriers both had built around their hearts. That would be the moment when she would be needed the most. But until that moment, there was still tea and dessert to be had; Antoinette rang the bell on the table next to her.

The cook brought forth plates of apple cake kept warm in the oven and a silver service holding perfectly brewed tea, cream and sugar. She and her guests sat around the library, partaking of the moist, spicy cake and comforting tea. They spoke of the music played and the dance that had been whirled about the floor. They laughed at the joy it had brought forth in all of them. They searched for something to critique about themselves and could find nothing. Conversation slowly drifted to the hour that the mantle clock chimed out, Meg's mouth once again forming a small pout.

"I am afraid it is time to go," Valery said, recognizing the look on his wife's face.

Meg placed her cup and saucer on the tray that held the remnants of the apple cake. "I know you are right," she sighed. "Oh, but it has been such a lovely evening!" She smiled at Tallis. "And that dress is just perfect for you!"

Tallis stood as Meg and Valery rose to their feet. "Thank you," she replied, smoothing out wrinkles in the green satin. "I am very fond of it."

Antoinette and Erik also stood as Valery took Meg's arm.

"Thank you for most delightful evening," Valery said as he kissed Antoinette on the cheek before turning to Tallis. "And thank you for the lovely dance." He turned his attention to Erik. "Which would not have been possible without your incredible music. We must find the time to speak about my commissioning you to compose a piece of music for me."

"For what reason?" Meg wondered.

Valery smiled at his wife. "That, my love, shall remain a secret for the moment." He returned his attention to Erik. "You can do such a thing?"

Erik bowed slightly. "You shall find me at my garret."

"Well done then," Valery replied.

"I shall walk you out," Antoinette told them. She smiled at Erik and Tallis before leaving the room with Meg and Valery.

Erik and Tallis stared at each other for a long moment. Erik finally breaking the silence. "Do you know any other dances? Perhaps one you would be willing to share with me?"

Tallis squirmed slightly under his gaze before regaining her composure. "There is a dance from my childhood," she began and shook her head, "but it is a folk dance and not as formal as the waltz."

Erik held out his hand. "Teach it to me." He watched as the emotions raced behind those calm grey eyes and heaved a silent sigh of relief as Tallis held out her hand.

"This is called a _Hanter Dro_ and it is three steps forward and one back," Tallis began. "It is usually done in a line and during festival times." She bit her bottom lip.

"What is wrong?" Erik wondered.

Tallis looked at him. "The dance is from Brittany."

_Christine,_ the memory flashed through Erik's mind. He was surprised at how quickly it fled under the gaze of the woman who so lightly held his hand. "I am sure Brittany has many lovely dances," he said with a smile. "I should like to learn my first one."

Tallis' smile broadened. "Follow me, please." She slightly lifted up her skirt to reveal her feet so that Erik could follow them but he hesitated and Tallis raised worried eyes to his face. "What is wrong?"

"If I am dancing with you," he began, "who shall create the music?"

"Allow me to return the favor," Tallis said and cleared her throat. She began to sing the song of her youth, her voice low and warm.

_When I was young, eighteen years old,  
__I was handsome and gallant, oh.  
__The love-sick women wanted to see me  
__at night in my room, oh._

Tallis blushed under Erik's amazed look and continued to lead him through the dance steps, their little line inching closer and closer to the doors that led outside.

_The youngest woman  
__brought me an orange, oh.  
__The orange fell on my foot.  
__It broke my leg, oh._

Erik found himself laughing at the image of an orange that could actually break a leg. He no longer needed to look at the movement of his companion's feet, the simple repetition easy enough to remember, easy enough to merge into the song coming from Tallis' throat. Erik opened the doors to the garden, never missing a beat.

_They sent for a doctor  
__from Paris or from Nantes, oh.  
__The doctor who treated me  
__wanted to cut off my leg, oh._

Tallis found herself dancing in a moonlit garden with a man who was often rude and impossible. A man who reminded her of her older brothers in the way he treated her. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to drift back to the festivals of her youth when she would dance with those brothers; it was a time when they treated her with the love and respect she knew they always felt for her.

_No my leg will not be cut off  
__because I live on my private income, oh._

Erik heard Tallis voice drift off into the slightly chill night. They had stopped dancing and as Erik turned his head, he saw Tallis looking at him in expectation. "Thank you," he said softly, raising her hand to his lips. "That was incredibly enlightening." He smiled at the frown that passed her face. "It was delightful."

"Oh," Tallis replied and brightened. "I am glad you liked it."

"But I should like this even more," Erik said as he drew Tallis into his arms and held her much the same way as Valery had done.

"What are you doing?" Tallis wanted to know.

"Listen to the music," Erik said as he began to hum the waltz he had played earlier. He watched as Tallis closed her eyes, implicitly trusting him. Trusting that he would not hurt her, that he was perfectly capable of guiding her through the steps and into the spell woven by the hummed music. It was a new and wondrous feeling for Erik and he, too, closed his eyes, giving up his own control to the music.

That was how Antoinette found them when she returned from seeing Meg and Valery off, dancing to a silent music in a moonlit garden, wrapped in each other's arms. Antoinette stood watching them for a few moments before quietly closing the door to the garden and walking out of the room.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Summary: **Christine continues to struggle with her fears, once again pushing Raoul away from her. Cousin Henri takes note of what has been happening. Tallis and Erik struggle to understand the rules of the game they are playing. And Madame Giry makes on observation.

_(edited on 21-Sept-05 to adjust for Victorian sensabilities - thank you for the suggestion!)_

CHAPTER TEN

It had been five days since the dinner party at Chagny and this was the day that Christine had promised to go into the village with Monique. She had risen early, having spent a restless night for the nausea that had begun quietly before she and Raoul had left for Chagny was now her almost constant companion. It snuck upon her unawares at any hour of the day or night. She had struggled to hide it from those about her, picking at her food, keeping to herself. When questioned, Christine had replied that the country air was so soothing that it had relaxed her to the point where it seemed to draw the very life from her body. Philippe had nodded knowingly, saying that had been his first reaction when he had moved to Chagny from Paris. Henri had spent his time watching her, smirking at her when she caught him, unaware that his actions only added to the sickness that had taken up residence in her stomach. Christine knew that Henri was a liar and she also knew he would know another liar when he saw one and that knowledge just added to the already guilty weight she bore.

And then there was Raoul.

Christine sighed as she thought of her husband. She hated what she was doing to him but could see no way round it. The night of the party when she had slept wrapped in his arms, feeling his gentle breath against her ear, the warm strength of his embrace keeping away her fears, Christine had almost broken down. She had almost silenced the fears in her mind, the doubts that plagued her heart. She could almost hear the small voices that haunted her growing silent. But that had been during the night and with the first light of day, as Raoul had planted a kiss on her cheek and rolled over, all the fears, the doubts and the voices came back. It was the moment when Christine had once more succumbed to the weaknesses that plagued her and had begun to withdraw from her husband again.

"More time," Christine whispered to herself as she placed her head in her hands, "I just need a bit more time." She raised her head and looked at the reflection in the mirror. There were dark circles under the worried eyes that looked back at her. Christine reached for the powder on the vanity in front of her and lightly dusted the circles before placing a touch of rouge on her pale cheeks. She drew a deep breath, straightened her shoulders and smiled at herself. "It will have to do," she said softly before standing and leaving the room where - once again - she slept alone.

Christine walked down the staircase. She stopped at the bottom, looking at the grandfather's clock that ticked each day away, remembering the story Philippe had told of how Raoul loved to stop it when no one was looking. She smiled to herself; she was discovering more and more about the man she had married. She was discovering things she had never known, never suspected. Then Christine paused, feeling a wave of sadness flow through her; she wondered if she had ever truly known Raoul. She wondered if she had fallen in love with the memory of a childhood playmate or the man who so obviously loved her. Christine had seen Raoul disappointed the night they had fled from the opera house when she had returned to him after seeking out her Angel for one last time but that disappointment had quickly fled. She had not seen Raoul disappointed since that night and now Christine wondered how he would react if she were to give him the greatest disappointment of his life.

"I will not think upon that," Christine said to herself, two fingers massaging the bridge of her nose. "I cannot think upon that."

A pair of familiar arms wrapped themselves about her waist. "Think upon what?" Raoul whispered softly into her ear.

"The little doubts that every woman has," Christine replied, fighting the urge to flee from her husband's embrace.

Raoul laughed softly and planted a kiss on her neck, turning Christine around so that he could look at her. "You are far too lovely and far too talented to ever have any doubts."

Christine reached a hand up to rest briefly against Raoul's cheek. "And you are far too kind," she replied in a somber tone of voice.

"Since when has kindness been a fault?" Raoul was puzzled.

"I do not know," Christine told him with a small shake of her head. "I am just being foolish."

Raoul, too, grew solemn. "It is not wonder for you are not sleeping; I can see the circles beneath your eyes through the powder." It was his turn to shake his head. "Will you not see the doctor in the village? He is rather old but he is still a good man. I am worried about you."

"I wish you would not worry ..."

Raoul interrupted her. "I am your husband, I have a right to worry over you."

Christine took back the hands that he held. "I am going into the village today to spend a few pleasant hours getting to know Monique better. I do not wish to subject myself to the poking and prodding of any one."

"I was just suggesting ..."

Christine sighed angrily. "I am your wife and not a possession over which you have rights! If I do not wish to see a doctor, than I shall not see a doctor."

"As you wish," Raoul said through clenched teeth. "If you wish to lose sleep and remain ill," Raoul let out a small laughed Christine's amazement. "What? Did you think I would not notice that you been ill since we arrived? What kind of a blind child do you take me for?"

They stared at each, hurt and anger the invisible barrier between them.

It was Raoul who finally relented as he watched Christine's chin tremble as she fought to keep her tears in. "Truth be told, love, I cannot bear to see you unhappy," he said. "If you do not wish to see a doctor then I shall not bring it up again." He carefully reached out for one of her hands. "I hope you have pleasant day with Monique and if you see anything you desire, just tell the shop proprietor to send the bill to Philippe." He managed a small smile. "Philippe is insisting."

Christine was silent for a moment, fighting down the niggling fears and the little voices. She studied her husband's face. "Why must you always be so understanding?" she wondered out loud and lowered her eyes. "If it will set your mind at ease, I will see the doctor." She heard the intake of breath and raised her head. "Only if he has the time to see me and only if Monique will agree to the interruption of the plans we have already made."

"I am sure she will," Raoul replied and was silent for a moment. "I have the feeling that you are keeping something from me," he shook his head as Christine opened her mouth. "Do not try to deny it. I know you will tell me in your own time. I admit I am not happy about this secret you hold for it has become the third - very unwelcome - person in our marriage." Raoul grew sad. "I had hoped we would no longer have a third person to haunt us once we married."

"It is not ..." Christine tried.

"Please do not say anything," Raoul told her. "You gave me one night to share with you again and I am trying very hard to hold onto the memory of that." He leaned towards Christine and placed a quick kiss on her cheek. "I fear I may need to hold that memory for longer than I would have ever imagined."

Christine was frustrated with her husband and angry with herself for causing it and it sounded in her voice. "You do not understand!" she hissed between her teeth.

"Then make me understand!"

"I cannot! Not now. Not yet."

Raoul tossed his head back and laughed - it was a strange sound.. "For once I am not the understanding husband!" He sobered. "And I truly do not wish to be the understanding husband but that is what I am. It is who I am and I cannot change." Raoul nodded at his wife. "So go and enjoy your time with Monique. Listen to her tell secrets about the child I used to be and buy yourself lovely things."

"What of you?" Christine asked softly.

"I shall do what I always do when I need to clear my thoughts; I shall find a strong horse and ride into the woods. My favorite trail is still there, neglected and forgotten. I believe the solitude it provides is just what I am seeking at the moment." He actually managed a soft smile. "This part of June is particularly lovely in the woods. It is cool under the shade of the trees and warm along the trail. You can hear birds overhead and animals underfoot. If I am lucky, I may even catch sight of a doe and her fawn."

Christine looked worried. "You will not take Philippe or Arthur or a groom with you?"

"Why? The trail may be neglected and forgotten but it is still on our land. What have I to fear?" Raoul raised the hand he held to his lips. "I promise I shall be careful if you promise to enjoy yourself."

"I promise," Christine told him.

Raoul managed a smile for her. "Then so do I," he said, letting her hand go, walking to the front door, opening and closing it behind himself.

"What have I done to us?" Christine asked herself, not knowing that Raoul stood on the porch, looking down at the riding gloves he held, a sad, bewildered expression on his face, asking himself the same question. Christine turned her attention once more to the clock that ticked behind her. "I really must go," she said to no one in particular as she took note of the time.

She turned and walked down the hallway and ran into Henri as she turned towards the hall off of which the dining room was located. Christine let out a gasp, a hand going to her throat.

"I did not mean to startle you," Henri said with a smile.

"That is quite all right," Christine assured him as she fought to still her racing heart.

Henri placed a hand on her arm, moving it gently up and down. "Is there anything I can do to make up for startling you?"

Christine took his hand off her arm. "No, thank you," she said firmly. "I must get ready to go."

Henri stood aside and swept her a bow as Christine walked past. "Pray, do not let me detain you," he said and watched her until she had disappeared into the dining room. He turned on his heel and headed in the opposite direction, whistling to himself. "Spirited little thing," he said to himself and grinned. "Far too spirited for dear cousin Raoul to handle," Henri's voice grew lower, "far too spirited."

"Far too spirited," Erik muttered to himself.

Tallis looked up from where she was on her knees, hands covered in dirt. "Did you say something of importance or may I continue to ignore you?"

"Pray do not consider me," Erik told her with a nod to the garden that surrounded her. "I believe those small green things need your attention far more."

Tallis smiled up at him. "I never consider you," she began. "And green means growth." She turned her attention back to the garden. "Something you should learn," Tallis muttered.

"Did you say something of importance?" Erik asked sweetly.

Tallis swiftly raised her head, a clump of dirt in her hand. That man was so irritating! "You ..." she managed to get out before she acted without thinking and flung the dirt at him.

Erik had seen the clump in her hand and dodged her throw but not fast enough; part of the dirt clump caught him on the arm. He looked down at the dirty sleeve of his white shirt, his eyes narrowing dangerously. Erik was fighting down the urge to throttle the girl on her knees in front of him when he raised his head. And the thought quickly fled from his mind.

Tallis was bent over her knees, her brown hair hiding her face, her shoulders shaking.

Erik took one hesitant step forward. "Are you all right?"

There was no answer.

Another step forward. "Tallis?" he wondered.

Still no answer.

Erik quickly crossed the remaining distance to the girl's side, not caring that his shoes were scuffing through the dirt. He started to reach for her shoulder and thought better of it and squatted down next to Tallis. "Tallis?" he tried again, this time reaching out for her shoulder.

Tallis reached for the hand that came to rest against her shoulder, raising her head.

Erik was prepared for her to be shocked, frightened, even crying. He was not prepared for the sight of this girl laughing! At him! She was laughing at him!

"Surprise!" Tallis said as she pulled away from him, causing them both to fall on their rumps into the warm soil. Tallis was laughing so hard that she could barely get her breath.

"What do you think you are doing!" Erik exploded before he could stop himself.

Tallis quickly stopped laughing and stared at the man who was glowering at her. She glowered back as she rose to her feet and stomped off towards the wooded area at the back of Madame Giry's house.

Realizing what he had sounded like; Erik briefly closed his eyes in pain before getting to his feet, as well.

"Tallis!" he called after her.

Tallis had reached around to pull off the kerchief that held her hair in place. She paused briefly, turning to look at Erik and flung it at him. "Go away!" she shouted and continued to walk away from him.

"Tallis!" Erik called again, as he started to go after her.

She just waved a muddy hand at him over her shoulder and did not stop.

"Will you just listen!"

Tallis looked over shoulder. "Will you just go away!" she called back without breaking stride.

Erik let out a hiss between his teeth as he continued to chase after Tallis, his strides growing longer and quicker. He drew a deep breath as he felt a burning begin in his side. He was not used to this kind of activity; there was no need for such games when he had lived beneath the opera house. There he had been in control; there it had been a world he had understood. He had been king and he had made the rules and everyone needed to obey them for fear of the consequences. Here, now, with this girl there seemed to be no rules and he most certainly was not in charge. A thought passed through his mind that frightened Erik - Tallis appeared to be in charge. That, he thought, would not do at all! Erik paused for a moment to catch his breath and to pick up the kerchief Tallis had flung at him. He looked around and saw her at the outdoor pump, water gushing over her hands. Erik gathered himself together, crossing the distance between them.

"Tallis," he tried softly.

"What?" came the exasperated reply.

"I am," Erik swallowed for the word did not come easily to his lips, "sorry."

Tallis took her hands from beneath the flowing water, wiping them on her apron before turning to look at the man behind her. "And you think that makes it all right? You think that one little word is going to make me forget the tone of voice with which you yelled at me? Or how you looked at me? Do you?"

Erik closed his eyes and counted to ten. He opened them and counted to ten again before daring to open his mouth. "Do you think we can speak like civilized persons for a moment?"

Tallis crossed her arms over her chest and regarded him for a long minute. "As you wish," she said and followed him over to a wrought iron bench beneath the shade of a chestnut tree. She watched Erik after they had sat, studying his face, waiting for him to begin. "You had something to say?" she finally asked.

"This is not easy for me," Erik began.

"I am sorry." Tallis was truly contrite. "I shall be quiet and listen."

Erik turned to look at her. "Why did you do that? Why did you pull away so that we both landed in the dirt? Why did you trick me into coming to you?"

Tallis looked at him in puzzlement. "It was a trick my sister and I used to play upon our older brothers. I thought it might be fun to play it upon you. Was I wrong?"

"I do not know how much Antoinette has told you about me ..."

"Enough," Tallis interrupted and grew silent once more under Erik's eyes.

"Then you will know that I understand little to nothing of your world. I do not know what it is to live within a family. I do not know what it is to tease and play games for the sheer fun of doing so." Erik sighed. "I was unprepared for the trick you played upon me and I reacted badly."

Tallis was quiet for a moment. "I, too, am sorry. I keep forgetting that you are not like the rest of us."

Her words startled Erik. He had never thought that any woman would ever look upon him as anything but a monster. Yet here was this woman who did not think he was anything out of the ordinary; who actually looked upon him as just another man. It was a revelation.

"I am just ...' Tallis turned her gaze from Erik to look towards the west, her eyes seeing something he could not, "I am just missing my family. I miss teasing my brothers and sharing secrets with my sister. I miss working with my mother in the kitchen and listening to my father's evening stories." She sighed. "I know that my brothers and sister are married with children of their own and that my parents grow old and tired," Tallis turned back to look at Erik, "but they are still my family and I miss them. I just wanted to recapture some of that love I was missing and to share it with you." She lowered her eyes. "I did not realize I could not tease you."

Erik was stunned. He had completely misunderstood her actions. He thought she was making fun of him when in reality she was playing with him, drawing him into her silliness and joy. Erik placed a hand against his forehead, feeling the pains of foolishness, ignorance and embarrassment rising in his breast. "I had not thought," he finally said, shaking his head. "I did not have brothers or sisters or parents as a child. I did not realize you were only having a game with me."

Now it was Tallis' turn to apologize. "I am sorry. I am no longer a child and I should not engage in such things."

"Do not say that!" Erik told her as he reached out and laid one of his hands over hers. "I should be very disappointed were you to give up your delightful spirit because of me." He lowered his head and caught Tallis' eyes. "But you must remember who and what I am. When you are playing with me may we at least play a game where I know the rules? I should be very upset with myself were I to raise my voice to you again."

Tallis nodded her head in agreement.

"Then I am satisfied." Erik patted the hand resting under his. "Now, can you tell me to clean my pants? I do not think Antoinette will let me beyond the kitchen in my current state."

Tallis smiled, holding his hand as she stood. "Stand up," she told him.

Erik raised an eyebrow but did as he was told.

"You must follow my actions," Tallis continued. She placed her hands behind her back and waited until Erik had also done so. "Now," she said, "you just brush the dirt away."

Erik watched as Tallis' arms moved up and down. He began to mimic her actions, feeling the grit of the earth beneath his sensitive fingers. He closed his eyes for a moment and could almost imagine a pair of small hands brushing lightly up and down, back and forth over the material that covered his buttocks. His back stiffened for a moment as he remembered the lashes and hands that had beaten him in the same place but then he relaxed as an entirely new sensation swept over him. He kept his eyes closed for a moment longer and sighed peacefully as tiny currents of warmth suddenly rippled through his body, seeking out unknown nerve endings and warming cold corners. Erik was abandoning himself to the delightful feelings of his own imagination when a voice intruded into his bubble world, breaking the dream and drawing him back to reality.

"It really is not all that difficult, is it?" Tallis wondered and smiled as Erik opened his eyes.

"No," Erik told her, "it was not." He was not aware of the way in which he was looking at the woman in front of him.

Tallis could feel the heat rising in her cheeks under the intensity of his stare. "You should be lucky it was only dirt and not mud."

"Thank you for the lesson." Erik replied softly.

"You are welcome," Tallis assured him as she quickly returned her hands to the front of her own body, clasping them at her waist.

"It was rather easy," Erik admitted with a small smile.

Tallis could feel herself being drawn into those glowing eyes. "You would have been able to do it without me," she nearly whispered as she fell through Erik's eyes and into his soul.

Neither of them was aware that they were being watched from the house. Antoinette let the curtain fall back into place and sighed.

"They will break each other's hearts before this is over," she said to the quiet room.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Summary:** Monique and Christine begin their "girl's day out". Philippe expresses some concerns to Arthur. Tallis and Madame Giry are also planning a day out. And five men are planning something else entirely.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The small carriage moved easily through the countryside, the horse snorting and tossing her head in joy at the warm morning, her feet moving along at a gentle trot. The driver acknowledged passing farm carts and passing people with a nod and a smile. Familiar sights went by - green fields, waving wild flowers, small wild life poking heads out from bushes alongside the road. The driver listened to the sounds of twittering birds, rustling leaves and herding dogs barking in far-off fields. Joy felt at the spring morning welled up and came out as a song hummed between smiling lips. The beat of the melody kept pace with the beat of hooves against earth. The horse and carriage finally slowed as the road to Chagny came into view. The driver turned into the long lane, moving past birch trees whose waving leaves flashed silver in the gentle breeze. The carriage stopped at the bottom of the stone stairs, the driver getting out and placing the reins through the heavy ring of the hitching post. The driver patted the horse's neck and turned to climb the stairs to the front door, knocking once. The door opened and the driver swept in, nodding to the valet closed the door.

"The Vicomtess is expecting me," the driver said.

"Here I am," a voice called before the valet could reply.

"Christine," Monique said, her arms opening to embrace the younger woman. "I am so very glad to see you again." She accepted the warm hug from Christine before drawing back. "You must tell Philippe that he cannot hoard your company all to himself."

Christine sighed, shaking her head. "I shall tell him but I doubt he will listen. He and Raoul are finding far too much pleasure entertaining me each night with tales from their youth."

Monique touched her head, closing her eyes in pain. "Oh those awful men," she said softly before opening her eyes and taking Christine's hand. "Allow me to spirit you away from them for a few hours of shopping, dining and a walk in the park along the river."

"I thought I heard a familiar voice," Philippe said as he approached the two women from down the hall.

Christine watched something flash in Monique's eyes as Philippe approached and took her hand. But as quickly as it appeared, Monique quickly damped it down. The strong emotion she had witnessed was a surprise and Christine wondered at it. She knew that Philippe had been in love with someone he did not marry for he had told her as much before she married Raoul. Now Christine wondered if that someone could possibly have been the woman standing next to her and if Monique had ever loved Philippe. Then Christine wondered if she was simply putting others into her own life story. "Pardon?" Christine asked.

Philippe was looking at her curiously. "You have been drifting away from us lately," he said.

"It is no wonder," Monique chided him. "The poor child has been telling me how you and Raoul make her listen to your foolish tales night after night." She frowned playfully at him. "No wonder she allows her mind to wander. I believe I should be forced to do the same thing!"

Christine had the good sense to blush.

"Forgive me," Philippe nodded at her. "I was just wondering if you had seen my brother yet this morning."

"He went for a ride," Christine told him.

Philippe did not look pleased. "Alone and on his favorite trail, I presume."

Christine looked worried. "Is there something wrong?"

Philippe gave her a reassuring smile. "Nothing he cannot handle." He continued when Christine gave him a puzzled look. "There are always poachers on the land. Raoul has seen them before and he has never given them a difficult time. He has always said they were just looking to feed their families." Philippe shook his head. "I doubt any of them would bother Raoul."

Monique nodded. "They have known Raoul since he was a much younger." She took Christine's hand. "He will be fine."

"If you are sure ..." Christine's voice trailed off.

"Yes, we are," Philippe promised her, giving Christine a quick kiss on the cheek. "Go off, have a lovely day, spend much money and you have my permission to lecture your husband after dinner."

"I will have her back to you later this afternoon." Monique told Philippe as they exchanged kisses on each other's cheeks.

"I will be expecting you," Philippe told them as he watched them leave the house, closing the door behind them. He then turned on his heel and returned to his study.

"What is wrong?" Arthur wondered as he looked up from the papers he had been studying.

"My fool brother is out riding on that trail again." Philippe was obviously not pleased.

"Oh," Arthur said as he picked up a pen and returned to his work.

"What does that mean?" Philippe wondered.

"It means nothing."

"Speak plainly, Arthur," Philippe told him as he crossed the room and sat down across the table from his assistant and friend.

Arthur put down the pen he had just picked up, composing himself before he raised his head. "He is a grown man, Philippe; you can no longer control his actions. You lost control of him the day you gave your blessing to his marriage to Christine. Raoul will do what he pleases and ride where he pleases and the more you try to control him, the further he will slip from you." Arthur raised an eyebrow at the man frowning at him. "Did you truly think you could regain control by simply having him within your sphere of influence?"

Philippe was silent for a moment. "If this had been the middle ages, I could have your head for what you just told me."

"You could have," Arthur was amazingly calm, "but you would not have. You have never been a man who desired to have those about him merely agree with every syllable uttered from his lips. You have always wanted and demanded the plainly spoken truth. That is what I tell you and that is why I am still here with my head."

There was a long silence between them finally broken by the laugh that escaped Philippe's lips.

"I do value your honesty and friendship," Philippe told Arthur. "Your honesty is what keeps me honest." He picked a pen up from the table and twirled it between his fingers. "I am worried about Raoul, though; there are new poachers here who have never seen him, who do not know him. He is too trusting for his own good, Arthur." Philippe bit his lip, lost in thought. "I think I shall make him take a pistol if he is going to insist on riding alone."

"That is not an entirely bad idea," Arthur agreed.

Philippe studied him. "Ah," he breathed. "I knew there was an agreeable man under that fastidious exterior."

It took but a moment for the two men to break into laughter.

Their laughter inside the paneled walls of Philippe's study was echoed by the laughter coming from the dark-haired woman who stood outside the walls of Chagny.

"I have surprised you!" Monique was delighted and could not contain her laughter.

"You have," Christine told her. "Completely."

"Did you think a woman could not drive a carriage?" Monique asked as she took Christine's arm and they walked down the steep stairs to the horse and carriage that waited below.

"I have seen it on occasion," Christine admitted, "but it still amazes me."

They reached the bottom of the stairs, Monique taking the reins from the hitching post, she and Christine climbing easily into the small carriage. Monique clicked her tongue at the mare, lightly tapping the reins against the horses back. There was a small lurch as the carriage began to move forward, down the long lane and out into the road that led to the village.

"Where did you learn to drive a carriage?" Christine wanted to know.

Monique glanced over at the young woman sitting next to her before returning her attention to the road. "Xavier and Philippe taught me years ago. I believe at the time it was just a gentleman's wager between them that I would never be able to learn to drive a carriage. The wager deteriorated into who would be the first one to teach me. I had so much attention!" She shook her head and smiled. "It was such fun to manipulate them both!"

"You did not!" Christine was amazed.

"But, of course, I did," Monique told her. "My husband and his best friend are quite easy to manipulate for they are always in a friendly competition." She sighed. "I have not done such a thing for many years for I find comfort in the companionship we share now that we are older and wiser. But - oh - the fun I had with them when I was a young woman!"

Christine put a hand to her lips to hide her smile.

They rode in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the beauty of the scenery that went past. It was Christine who finally broke the silence.

"May I ask you a favor?" she wondered. Christine turned her head so that she was not looking at the woman seated next to her. "I have been feeling a bit nervous lately and Raoul would like me to see a doctor."

Monique nodded in understanding. "He means Senor Gallardo."

Who?" Christine was a bit surprised.

"Senor Gallardo," Monique repeated. "Philippe's father brought him to this village years ago. He had been studying medicine in Paris and the old Comte was a great patron of the university where Senor Gallardo studied. The doctor in the village at the time was old and wanted to stop practicing. Philippe's father gave Senor Gallardo a home and apprenticed him to the old doctor. Juan Antonio never quite made it back to Spain and he has been the village doctor ever since." She turned for a moment to nod at Christine. "He will make the time to see you and I am glad for I knew you were not feeling well the other evening. You must take care of yourself; your husband loves you, after all."

"I know," Christine said softly.

Monique nodded to herself. "We shall make Senor Gallardo our very first stop in the village."

"Thank you," Christine replied as she turned her gaze back to the countryside that was moving past. The beautiful, bucolic countryside radiated harmony, a feeling that Christine tried to absorb by inhaling deeply, letting the warm, scented air fill her being, seek out her soul and enfold her in its peace.

Tallis was doing the same thing as Christine at the exact same moment. She stood in the front lawn of the house she shared with Madame Giry, eyes closed, arms held open, inhaling deeply of the same spring air. A shawl draped over her arms, fluttered gently in the breeze. Tallis had her head raised to the sky, a smile crossing her lips as she felt the sun warm her skin. It was almost like being back in the world of her youth, out in the open fields, running, feeling as if she could fly, sharing the joy with the brothers and sister she loved.

"It must be a pleasant dream," Madame Giry said.

Tallis lowered her head, drawing her arms about herself. "I was thinking of my childhood. It was days like this that my brothers, sister and I would run through the fields, playing silly games. Eventually my sister and I would lag behind our brothers. We would then sit in the fields, making wild flower wreaths and chatting till we heard our mother ring the bell for mealtime."

Madame Giry raised her head for a moment before looking at her companion. "It was days like this that I found most difficult when I was a teacher. My students did not have the heart to pay attention to the basic, repetitive mechanics of dance when there was a bright world outside beckoning to them." She drew her shawl close. "I did my best to put the fear of God - and me - into them."

"Surely you relented?" Tallis asked and drew back at the look from Madame Giry. "At least a little?"

"I not an ogre, my dear," Madame Giry replied. "My students received many reprieves from their studies." She laughed softly. "I remember what it was like to be young. How could I deny their youth to the students who studied so hard? We had many outings in Paris. We went to the museums and to the parks, we strolled along the Seine and visited cafes." She smiled at the memories. "They were good and happy times for us all."

"It sounds lovely," Tallis said. "Even the studies."

"And your studies?" Madame Giry wondered.

Tallis lowered her eyes. "I am very grateful for them."

Madame Giry was just a bit worried. "Do you enjoy them?"

"I do, I do," Tallis assured her as she raised her eyes. "I love being here. I love that you take the time to teach me what you know. I love how you treat me as more than a mere hired companion."

"You are my companion." Madame Giry laid a hand on the young woman's arm. "You are my friend and I shall forever be grateful to my new son for insisting that I needed someone to share my home."

Tallis sighed. "Sometimes it is very hard for me, you understand. There are moments when I feel as if I am still the little girl in the tree, watching all the beautiful men and women going into the Baron's home, dreaming that I would be one of them." A crooked smile crossed her face. "I am afraid that I may wake up and find this is all a dream."

"Nonsense," Madame Giry replied, pursing her lips. "You are merely suffering from too much of this bright morning." She linked her arm through Tallis'. "The perfect cure for this is to walk me into town."

I am a country girl," Tallis playfully warned, seeing the twinkle in Madame's eyes despite her rather gruff words. "I know how to walk."

"I am a trained dancer and not all that old," Madame told her. "We shall see who tires first."

They began to walk.

"What shall the prize be at the end of our walk?" Tallis wondered.

"Luncheon at the Hotel Germain," Madame Giry replied.

Tallis gave a little skip. "They have the most wonderful dessert cart!"

Madame Giry laughed softly. "My dear, your excitement at life is quite contagious!" She looked down at the feet skipping next to her. "But I fear you shall have to slow down, unless you wish to carry me into town!"

Tallis smiled. "Slow down, slow down," she repeated softly.

"Slow down, slow down," one of the men seated around the table in the darkened corner said between clenched teeth. He looked around at the others seated with him. Three of them were dressed in a manner similar to his own - simple clothing, clean but worn. The man he had addressed, seated across from him, wore clothes of a more fashionable cut, neatly pressed and expensive.

"What have I said that is difficult to understand?" the well-dressed man wished to know. "What I desire is so simple that even men such as you," he looked those about him up and down, "should be able to handle it with little to no difficulty or mistakes," he finished as he leaned back in his chair.

One of the other men about the table looked at the first speaker. "I do not take kindly to such things, Louis," he said, beginning to get to his feet. "I leave you to it."

A hand quickly flashed across the table, grabbing the speaker by his shirt, forcing him back to his seat. "You do not move till I give you leave to move," the voice attached to the hand warned.

Louis looked at the man in the shadows as he drew his hand back. "You had best remember who you are speaking to," he said, his eyes narrowing. "If you want this done, you had best show some respect. You will never find a better group of men to put your plan into action than the ones seated here. And we do not take kindly to insults. We know our jobs and we will do them but you will respect us." He slammed his ale mug down on the table for emphasis.

"As you state," the shadowed man said through clenched teeth. "I should have more respect for the men who I employ to carry out my wishes." He turned toward the man he had forced back into his chair. "My apologies, Edouard."

Edouard just growled beneath his breath, raising his mug to his lips.

The shadowed man returned his attention to Louis. "You understand what you must do?"

Louis shrugged. "It is not that difficult. We must sit and wait for the right moment."

Francois, the fourth man at the table, broke his silence. "I am not happy about having to camp in the woods."

"You will have all the comfort you need," the shadowed man told him, eyes narrowing dangerously, "plus you are being paid well for your services."

The last man at the table leaned forward, his lip curling in a decidedly evil manner. "Do not worry," Nico said, "It shall be done as you desire. I look forward to this game of cat and mouse."

Louis turned to snarl at Nico. "Do not forget who is charge," he warned.

"Gentleman," the shadowed man said in a soft tone of voice that commanded attention. "I beg you not to bicker amongst yourselves and to keep in mind what we are trying to accomplish." He turned to Louis. "You must take your men and set up camp in the wooded area I showed you previously." He turned to Edouard and Francois. "It will be hard to wait but I am counting on the powers of observance I have seen you use previously. You know for what you are watching and I trust you will know the correct moment." He finally turned to Nico. "Do not lose control," he warned. "There will be enough time for your particular talents after we accomplish our goal." A smirk crossed his face. "That I can promise."

Nico tossed his head back. "I can wait," he said softly.

The shadowed man handed a packet to Louis. "Now, go to the woods and wait for your moment."

"_Oui_," Louis agreed as he took the proffered packet, opening it and seeing the money inside. He raised his eyes. "How will you know?"

The shadowed man raised an eyebrow. "I always know," he replied. "Now, I am going to stand and join the others in the main room. All of you will exit quietly out the back door, drawing no attention to yourselves." He stood quietly. "_Bon chance,_ my friends," he finished before leaving them, moving toward the brighter area of the country inn.

"Let us go and prepare," Louis said as he stood, his companions joining him.

"The game begins," Nico said to himself, the gleam in his eyes reminiscent of a predator lusting after a tasty morsel.


	12. Chapter 12

Summary: Madame Giry and Tallis, Monique and Christine all enjoy a bright June day without the men in their lives to mess it up. And a telegram is sent.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Christine was seated in an elegant wing chair, hands folded peacefully in her lap, expressive eyes fixed on the man seated across the desk from her. Christine thought he had to be nearing sixty. He was of a medium build with a round face full of smile lines and topped by thick salt and pepper hair. He had made the time to see her, dismissing her apologies at the intrusion with a wave of his hand. He had been pleasant, patient, gentle and understanding with her. He had listened to her symptoms and tried to ease the fears she described. In the end, he had only told her what she already knew and confirmed the rumours she had heard.

_Time_, Christine thought, _I just need more time._

"You will not say anything," she said out loud, "to anyone?"

Juan Antonio Gallardo shook his head and smiled at the young woman across the desk. He had known the Vicomte since Raoul had been a young child with skinned knees and bruised elbows. Now he found himself enchanted by the Vicomtess; she was very pretty and very young - much too pretty and much too young to be ruled by her fears. The physician thought it very sad.

"I will say nothing," Juan Antonio tried assuring Christine. "What is said between a physician and his patient is to remain between them." He passed a piece of paper to Christine. "But I would recommend that you tell your family. You need not be afraid; I know them and they will understand."

Christine took the paper, read it and slipped it into her reticule. "I shall think about it," Christine replied, knowing she would not say a word until more time had passed.

"And you will take that to the local chemist and have him fill it for you?" The look on Juan Antonio's face was determined. "I am afraid I am going to have to insist."

"I shall," Christine told him with a smile. "I promise."

Juan Antonio returned the smile. "You may trust Monsieur Fontelaire to be discreet. He is a very good chemist."

"Thank you," Christine replied softly as she stood.

The doctor stood, as well. He crossed from behind his desk to Christine's side, walking her to the door. Juan Antonio placed his hand on the knob, pausing for a moment to look at Christine. "Tell them," he urged softly.

Christine did not trust her voice and merely nodded.

"I am always here, should you need me," Juan Antonio told her before returning his attention to the knob he held. He twisted it and opened the door, looking out into the small parlor that served as his waiting room. He smiled as he saw Monique rising to her feet.

"My dear?" Monique wondered aloud.

"I am well," Christine told her, turning her head to smile at the doctor. "I will need to fill an order for an elixir to help settle my nerves."

Jean Antonio knew at that moment that the young woman by his side would not do as he asked and tell her family - she would keep her secret for a few more weeks. He put his disappointment aside, fixing his "physician's" expression firmly on his face. "She is well and will stay such as long as she follows my directions," he told Monique.

Monique crossed the small area from her seat to the office door. She and Juan Antonio exchanged kisses. "Thank you," she told him.

Juan Antonio patted her hand. "For you, my dear, always," he told her. "Give my regards to your husband." He turned to Christine. "And give my regards to your husband and his brother." He smiled. "Now, I believe I must not keep you from your pleasant outing any longer." He gave them one last smile and turned to disappear back into his office.

"I am very tempted to ask if everything is well with you," Monique began, "but I shan't." She linked her arm through Christine's. "Today is meant for pleasure. It is to be a day when we leave our cares behind us."

"I look forward to it." Christine was silent for a moment. "There is one last favor I would like to ask."

They had walked out of the office and into the sunny street.

"What would that be?"

"Is there a telegraph office here?" Christine wondered. "I would like to send a telegram to my friend, Meg, in Paris."

Monique laughed. "We are not living in the Dark Ages - even this far from Paris! Yes, there is a telegraph office and we shall make that our last stop before returning home." She looked at Christine. "You are full of requests this day."

Christine sighed. "I have been making a list of things I wished to do when I finally got out of the house." She grinned at the woman next to her. "It is a very long list."

"Then let us delay no longer," Monique said. "I believe the first thing to do is to visit the chemist and then it is time to shop!"

"Show me the way!" Christine told her.

They continued down the lane where the physician had his office, stopping at the end.

"I shall always find this very beautiful," Monique said as she took in the sight before her.

The village of Chagny was located in a peaceful valley south of Lyon. It was sheltered by mountains visible from the village, their snow-capped tips gazing down with cold clarity upon the picturesque village. The village itself was centered around a huge green, lanes weaving in and out, ancient buildings acting as guards, their windows the silent sentries. But no matter the street road or lane, no matter the direction, they all ended up at the green. It was large and lush, carefully tended flower beds placed at random intervals. A church and rectory kept vigil on the north side of the green, the remaining sides lined by the businesses that were the heartbeat of any town or village. People moved in and out of clothing shops and the chemist, the butcher and the greengrocer, the florist and the mercantile. There was even a small but elegant hotel for weary travelers.

"It reminds me of the towns my father and I would pass through when I was small." Christine sighed. "Those were such happy times."

"I remember hearing of your father," Monique told her. "I am sorry you lost him when you were so young."

"Thank you," Christine said, still looking around at the village, a puzzled look crossing her face.

"What is it?" Monique wondered.

"I was just wondering where the inn is that Henri frequents."

Monique pursed her lips. "It is to the west, on the outskirts of the village and it is certainly not the type of place in which you should wish to be seen." She glanced at the wondering look from Christine. "The inn caters to a rather rough trade; I have known Xavier and Philippe to be summoned to drag either Henri or Didier or both from that place."

"I did not realize," Christine replied softly.

"I love my cousin," Monique began and grinned slyly, "and I can be fond of Henri at certain moments," she watched as Christine bit back a laugh, "but I am perfectly aware of their shortcomings. One can only hope that someday they will grow out of their arrested adolescence and become the men they should be - such as the man your husband has become."

Christine blushed and lowered her eyes for a moment. She raised her eyes again and smiled at Monique "I am hoping you will tell me the truth about Raoul and his childhood for I have a feeling that he and Philippe are embellishing the truth."

Monique laughed. "Oh, my dear; I have more stories than I can relate within our time together!" She winked at Christine. "But I shall do my best."

They linked arms and crossed the street, making their way across the green, heads close together, laughing quietly.

Quiet laughter also echoed from Madame Giry's lips as she watched a young boy playing by the side of the pond, his clothes wet and muddy from urging his small boat along on great adventures. "I shall never tire of watching small children at play," she told her companion and then sighed. "One day I hope the small child shall be my own grandchild."

Tallis had her shawl drawn about her, her head raised to the sun and she was smiling. She lowered her head to look at the older woman seated next to her. "I think you will be a wonderful grandmother."

Madame Giry reached over and patted Tallis' arm. "Thank you, my dear." She continued to watch the small boy who was now showing his boat to his nanny. "I know that my students would find the fact that I look forward to the company of small children a wonderment and they would laugh at me, taking great pleasure in the knowledge." She grew silent for a moment. "But I am still a woman beneath the exterior I present to the world and I am a mother who loves my child. I am soft - with a heart - even if the rest of the world does not see that."

The little boy was now holding to his nanny's hand, his dripping boat in the other and they were walking across the park.

"Is that why you befriended Monsieur Herrin?" Tallis wanted to know.

Madame Giry stood, waiting for Tallis to stand before linking her arm with the younger woman, guiding her in the opposite direction from the little boy and his nanny. "It was my heart that compelled me at first," Madame Giry acknowledged. "Yet it was not friendship or affection that urged me to pull him from that place; it was pity." She shrugged slightly. "I felt sorry for him for no person should ever be treated like an animal."

"It was horrid for him, was it not?"

"It was," Madame Giry replied. "He has scars on his body that the world will never see and scars on his soul that will take a lifetime to heal. I must take some responsibility for his soul ..."

"But you were only a child!" Tallis interrupted, knowing the story.

"I was." Madame Giry stopped walking, placed both her arms on Tallis and turned her so that they were looking at each other. "And Erik is still a child in so many ways," she warned gently.

Tallis lowered her eyes. "I am not much better," she said softly before raising her eyes. "I know that my actions are, at times, those of a girl much younger than I. I know that I still have much to learn and I am grateful for your patience and your wisdom."

"Oh my dear," Madame Giry sighed as she drew Tallis into a quick hug. "You are fond of him, are you not?" She watched as Tallis nodded her head. "I have seen the warmth in your eyes when you look upon him and I am so thankful that you see him as simply another man, another human being placed here by God for a purpose." She gently shook the arms she held. "And that, I believe, shall be his saving grace."

The two women continued to walk through the park, circling the pond, smiling at the children dashing in and out of the bushes. They walked through the large, ornate gate that guarded the park at night and into the main street of the bustling town. Expensive carriages, drawn by elegant horses moved past them. Men stepped aside for them, tipping their hats at the two women, their greetings acknowledged by the nod of a head. Madame Giry and Tallis crossed over a stone bridge and into the main part of the town before either spoke again.

"But I wonder what he thinks of me," Tallis finally said.

"I know him well," Madame Giry replied. "I believe I can safely say that he is fond of you."

"Fond," Tallis replied in a rather strange tone of voice. Her gaze drifted off to a place Madame Giry could not go. "I may be lacking in the social graces that are expected of a woman of my age but that does not mean I am a child. I, too, am a woman and I feel things a woman should feel."

"Why do you not tell him how you feel?" Madame Giry asked.

"Why? Why?" Tallis wondered, turning to look briefly at the woman walking next to her. "Because I know he still loves someone else."

"She is gone from his life," Madame Giry said and in a firmer tone, "forever."

Tallis placed a hand over her heart. "But she is still here and I cannot compete with that memory." She sighed. "Perhaps if I was more like Christine ..."

Madame Giry squeezed the arm she held. "No. That is not what Erik needs. He needs someone who will willingly stand up to him and not cower in fear. He needs a woman who will appreciate what he can do but will not share his passion for those things. He needs a woman who will have passions of her own, a woman who can hold her own against him. He needs a woman who will match him strength for strength and weakness for weakness. He needs a woman who will see the little boy inside the man, the little boy who only wishes to be loved."

"I wish I could be that for him," Tallis admitted.

"Ah, the hotel," Madame Giry as they stopped in front of the Hotel Germain.

The hotel was a large, ornate building, white in color, with fluted columns holding up a second story balcony. A liveried bellman waited at the front door, opening and closing it for the well-dressed guests who came and went. Even now, as the sun overhead drew to midday, men and women were entering the hotel, heading for the restaurant where savory dishes were served by men in formal black attire. A table was waiting for Madame and her guest, a table was always kept waiting, courtesy of the Baron, Meg's husband, Madame's son-in-law. But the table would have to wait for a few more minutes.

"May I give you a word of advice?" Madame Giry asked Tallis.

Tallis could not find her voice and only nodded.

"Erik still harbors an affection for Christine. I believe he thinks she will come back to him." Madame Giry shook her head. "I know she will not for she is happy in her marriage." Madame Giry smiled. "My dear, continue to be his friend. Do not let him have his own way. Do not show weakness before him. The best thing you can do is to continue to be yourself. He will come round to realize what is waiting before his eyes. It may just take some time."

Tallis smiled. "I have all the time in the world."

"It is well," Madame whispered. "But I believe that the time for luncheon is slipping away and I am hungry." She guided Tallis up the stairs and into the hotel.

And two hours later and several hundred miles to the south, Monique guided Christine down the stairs of the hotel in Chagny. She guided Christine along the lane that ran on the west side of the hotel and led to the path beside the river that moved silently and swiftly through the village. They walked in silence for a few moments.

"I have never eaten so much in my life!" Christine exclaimed, raising a hand to her lips, her skin going pale.

Monique took note. "Do you wish to sit for a moment?"

"No!" Christine was emphatic. "I fear if I sit again, I shall not be able to rise. No, it is better to walk." Christine smiled. "But luncheon was so wonderful! And two pieces of apple tart - please, do not tell Raoul for I shall never hear the end of it!"

Monique laughed. "He shall not hear it from my lips."

A loud explosion cut through the warm June afternoon causing Christine to jump.

"Oh my ..." she exclaimed, a hand going to her throat, the other gripping tightly to Monique's arm.

Monique frowned in the direction of the mountains. "Oh that horrible mine," she said before turning back to Christine. "Are you all right?"

"Startled," Christine said as she swallowed and struggled to get her breathing under control. "What was that?"

"There is a mining operation in the mountains and once or twice a month they use explosives to move parts of the mountain out of the way." She shook her head. "I know this sounds strange but you will get used to it should you and Raoul spend more time here. And please accept my apologies for the start you received."

Christine was puzzled. "Why should you apologize for the explosion?"

"Because Xavier is one of the backers. Why he gave them the money, I will never know but he has a soft place in his heart for anyone who is trying to make their way in the world." Monique thought in silence for a moment. "Perhaps he is hoping that someday one of these adventures that he backs will actually have a pay off and he will share in their glory." She looked at Christine. "Do not be so shocked! I have been married for twenty years and I know my husband's faults - even the tender ones."

"And I know more of my husband's faults," Christine grinned at her, "thanks to you." She looked toward the mountains. "But I do not believe I could ever become accustomed to such a disturbance."

They continued to walk alongside the river, slowing making their way down a path that meandered back toward the village green. Monique and Christine took turns pointing out the sights that made them smile. A little rabbit scampered across their path, looked up at them, its nose twitching in indignance at their intrusion into his world. A mother duck swam by in the river, five little yellow ducklings swimming in her gentle wake. The last echoes of the explosion drifted upwards past snow-capped mountain peaks, dissipating into the softness of white clouds. The comforting sounds of village life drifted along on the wind, replacing the stark harshness of the now silent explosive echoes, bringing the world back to its normal self.

"I wonder what Philippe will say when he discovers just how much money you spent?" Monique wondered.

"He told me to spend it," Christine insisted.

Monique nodded. "Good girl. Xavier told me to spend money, as well, and I think we honored their requests well, do you not?"

"Yes, I do." Christine thought of all the packages that would be delivered to Chagny over the next few days and grinned. "I think we did quite well. I think Henri will be surprised that I remembered to include him in my shopping."

"And Raoul?" Monique asked softly.

"Especially Raoul," Christine whispered, a warm expression crossing her face for a moment.

They had walked up the small rise from the river, emerging back into the center of town. They stood silently for a moment, Christine lost in thought. Monique watched her, suspecting but not willing to intrude into a secret obviously held close for reasons the young woman thought valid.

"The telegraph office is next to the hotel," Monique finally said, discreetly pointing out the direction. "Go send your letter to your friend in Paris while I go to the stable and collect the horse and carriage. I shall meet you in front of the office in ten minutes time."

"Thank you," Christine said. "I shall be waiting."

"I have no doubt." Monique gave her a quick hug and walked off in the opposite direction from the telegraph office, toward the stable.

Christine watched her for a moment before walking to the telegraph office. She passed the hotel where she and Monique had shared luncheon, walking through the door of the small building next to it, the bell jingling as she entered.

A man in a white shirt and small black tie looked up at the sound of the bell and smiled. "May I help you?"

"Yes, please," Christine said as she walked across the simple wood floor, stopping in front of the counter that separated the telegraph office into two parts - one for the customers and one for the proprietor. "I wish to send a telegram to Paris. I was told you could do that."

The man smiled at her. "I can," he said, drawing a piece of paper from beneath the counter and handing it to Christine. He moved the inkwell next to her. "If you would be so kind as to write your message on this?" He asked.

Christine heaved a deep sigh. "Thank you," she said, reaching for the pen that rested in the inkwell, her elegant script flowing across the paper. She finished writing, replacing the pen and turning the paper so that the man could read it.

"This is the correct address in Paris?" the man wanted to know.

"Yes," Christine nodded.

A small frown crossed his face. "And this is all you wish to say?"

"It is everything," Christine told him. "How much will that be?"

The man quoted her a sum and Christine reached into her reticule, giving the man the amount he told her. She gave him one last smile before turning and leaving the building to wait for Monique, the deception she had just wrought weighing heavily upon her heart. The telegram she had sent was not addressed to Meg; it was addressed to a man and it consisted of three little words:

"I am certain."


	13. Chapter 13

_(A/N - Now that the conference and my first presentation are behind me, I can return to the fun stuff. Thank you for your patience as Real Life swallowed me whole before spitting me back out. And now things begin to happen ...)_

**Chapter Summary:** Once again Erik loses his temper with Tallis. Henri and Didier discuss Christine over drinks. Didier makes note of some men who appear at the inn. And Henri decides to act upon his suspicions regarding his cousin's wife.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

It had been a week since Tallis had enjoyed a day in the local town with Madame Giry. Seven days during which she could think upon the wisdom that Madame had been gracious enough to share concerning the strange man who was her friend. Seven days in which Tallis had withdrawn into herself, struggling to listen to the small voice that the priests assured her was God speaking. Seven days during which her every waking moment was occupied by thoughts of Erik and seven nights wherein he haunted her dreams. Tallis found herself seeing him when he was not there, hearing his voice whispering in the late spring breezes that blew through open windows. She would look in the mirror and see his eyes staring back at her. Erik had become her constant companion, her very breath, her every heartbeat.

"When did this happen?" Tallis asked her reflection. Madame Giry had gone to spend the day with Meg, leaving Tallis to her own devices and now she was running a soft cloth over the gilt mirror that hung by the front door. She left her hand on the edge of the mirror, resting her head against it. "How did this happen?" Tallis was startled from her introspection by a loud knock on the front door. She slipped the cloth she held into the pocket of her skirt before opening the door. "Oh," she said as she saw who stood there, her eyes falling and the color rising in her cheeks.

"Am I to stand here all day or may I enter?" Erik wanted to know.

Tallis raised her eyes and saw the man before her eyeing her askance.

"Is there something wrong?" he asked.

"No," Tallis assured him, swallowing quickly as she composed herself and stepped aside to allow Erik entrance to the house. "No," she repeated as she closed the door.

"Are you certain?" Erik wondered, the concern evident in his voice. "I do not believe I have ever seen you quite so pale in spite of your charming blush," he reached out a finger to touch her cheek, "or quite so quiet."

The touch of his finger upon her cheek caused the blood in Tallis' veins to race even as his touch returned her to her senses. "I am quiet because I have nothing to say," she told Erik as she stuck her nose in the air.

"I am pleasantly surprised to find that I am still capable of learning something new each and every day," Erik replied.

Tallis was a bit confused. "What does that mean?"

Erik was also confused. "It means that I am amazed to find you have nothing to say to me. It means I am beginning to worry for it is not like you to be so silent. Are you quite sure you are feeling well?"

Tallis quickly composed herself. "I am as ever," she told him. "I was just not expecting to encounter you at the front door for you usually enter through the kitchen." Tallis frowned at Erik, crossing her arms over her chest. "Managing to startle me when you do."

"Ah," Erik said as he placed a hand over his heart, "my tattered reputation."

"Indeed," Tallis replied as she walked past him, heading down the hall toward the kitchen.

"Am I to remain here?" Erik wondered. "Standing alone in the hall?"

"You may join me in the kitchen, should you so wish," Tallis called over her shoulder.

Erik sighed and followed Tallis down the hall and into the kitchen where he found her standing over a pot that simmered on the hearth. He stood silently, watching her, wondering at the normalcy of the moment in which he found himself. It was a moment that, after years of living the darkened shadows, he still did not expect, he still did not understand. It was a moment that felt awkward to him and Erik fought down the urge to run from it.

"Now it is my turn to ask if you are feeling well," Tallis said as she turned around to look at her companion. She moved a hand up to brush a stray strand of hair from a face flushed not only by the steam from the pot.

"I am as ever," Erik replied, using her words. It earned him a shake of the head as he took a seat at the small table by the window, careful to keep his back to the wall so that he could see the entire room.

His actions did not go unnoticed.

"Why do you always sit in the same chair?" Tallis wondered.

Erik kept shaking hands hidden beneath the table. "You know my history; why do you feel the need to ask such a question?"

"I am just trying to understand," Tallis told him. "I know you are under what protection the Baron can offer. I know that Madame would never allow any to harm you." She gave him a brief smile. "You even came in through the front door. Surely that proves you are no longer afraid?"

"I live in fear," Erik managed to get out through clenched teeth. "You know what I am." His visage grew dark. "You know what I have done." He slowly rose to his feet. "Every moment for the rest of my life shall be spent in fear." Erik began to cross the small distance to the girl who stood rooted to the floor. "I wait for the knock on the door, the tap on my shoulder." He paused to glare down into wide brown eyes. "I brave coming through the front door because I hear strange sounds in the woods." Erik struggled to control his agitated breathing. "You are breaking every dictate of society by being here alone with me." He leaned closer. "And you are taking your life into your hands."

Tallis stared back up at him, her heart pounding, her mind strangely quiet; she did not know if she should be frightened by the stranger in front of her. Tallis swallowed hard. "You do not frighten me," she said in a small voice.

"I should," Erik hissed back, hearing what he said, knowing what he did but powerless to stop.

"You are just a ... a ... bully!" Tallis told him as she swept past him, running from the kitchen.

Erik breathed heavily through his nose, fingers clenching and unclenching. One hand reached for a piece of crockery that rested on the work table before him. "Why. Do. I. Always. Do. That?" Erik spat out before he flung the crockery against the wall, the sound of shattering clay falling to the floor somehow comforting and musical to his ears. Erik moaned as he leaned over, resting his elbows on the work table, placing his head into his hands. He wondered why he always seemed to take the simple moments of life and sabotage them. He wondered why he just could not be happy. He wondered if he would ever be able to escape the darkened lair that still called to him, that struggled to keep claim of what humanity remained. Erik raised his head. "Tallis," he whispered as he shook his head, turned and went after the girl.

He found her standing on the stairs, one hand gripping the bannister, the other caught up in her hair. "Tallis?" Erik wondered, his heart tearing in two as he heard the watery sniffle.

"Are you sure it is proper for you to be here?" Tallis asked without turning to face him.

Erik sighed and closed his eyes in pain. "I deserved that," he replied softly.

Tallis sniffled again and turned around. Her eyes were red but there were no tears on her cheeks. "Yes, you did," she told Erik. "All I have ever wanted to be was your friend and you do everything in your power to prevent that. I struggle to make pleasant conversation for I understand that is what polite people do and you raise your voice to me and bully me just as if you were a child." Tallis' words came out quickly and she raised her hands to her mouth as she realized what she said.

"I am a child," Erik said as he stood still, unable and unwilling to reach out for the pained woman in front of him.

They stared at each other for a long moment before lowering their eyes, a painful silence manifesting in the space between them.

"I should go," Erik finally said with a sigh as he turned toward the front door.

"No, wait!" Tallis quickly replied. She gave Erik a small smile as she turned back to her. "Please, stay." She shook her head. "I do not care what polite society will think of me." She managed a short laugh. "I do not think they even think of me at all." Tallis took one step down. "You are my friend." She took another step and stood on the last riser of the staircase. "And I have no wish to argue with you. I have no desire for there to be bitter feelings between us." She clasped her hands before herself. "Will you please stay to luncheon with me?"

Erik nodded to her. "I should like that." He offered his arm and felt something unknown stir within as Tallis took it. "I, too, wish there to be no bitter feelings between us; will you forgive me?"

"Of course," Tallis said. "That is what friends do."

"I have much to learn," Erik told her.

He was not the only man who was finding he had much to learn when it came to the opposite sex.

"I just do not understand," Henri said with a sigh as he took another sip of ale, placing his mug back on the table.

Didier signaled toward the bar before turning his attention back to his drinking companion. "What is there to understand?" he wondered. "Your cousin saw a little singer who just happened to be a childhood friend and she saw a chance to better her station in life."

An older barmaid who would receive no attention from the two young men at the table, placed their mugs down, frowned at them and walked away.

"I understand that," Henri said as he raised the mug to his lips. "What I do not understand is why my sainted cousin puts up with her nonsense." He wagged a finger at Didier. "Do you know they have been here almost three weeks and they are still sleeping in separate bedrooms? Now, if you were married, would you allow your wife to behave in such a manner?"

Didier kept his hands wrapped around his mug, thinking silently. "No, I would not. Does the wife not promise to 'obey' during the marriage vows?"

"Exactly!" Henri told him. "And it seems to me that Christine is not honoring her marriage vows."

"Meaning?" Didier wondered with a raised eyebrow.

"I think you take my meaning," Henri replied.

"I do, indeed!" Didier chuckled as he raised his mug. He waited till Henri had slammed his own against it before raising it to his lips and downing what was left of the ale in one breath. "Are you sure?" he wondered.

"Quite," Henri said as he pointed out a small but exquisite diamond stick pin in his cravat. "She brought me this when she was shopping with your cousin, Monique. She also brought back gifts for Philippe and Arthur but I did not see anything for cousin Raoul. What kind of wife goes shopping and does not come back with a gift for her husband?"

Didier leaned across the table to look at the pin. "Very lovely," he said. "And you say she did not come back with anything for her loving husband?" He waited as Henri shook his head. "I would say that is telling, very telling. What do you intend to do about it:

Henri pondered in silence for a few moments. "I think I shall go home and try to be nice."

"How nice?" Didier wondered.

"Very, very nice," Henri told him and broke into laughter.

Didier joined in and shared Henri's laughter. The sound of their merriment carried over the usual noise of the inn, causing the other patrons to momentarily glance their way before turning back to their own business. The two relatives of the village's wealthiest families were thought of as very young, exceedingly foolish and not worth effort or thought by those who passed them by. Backs were turned on the two young men as they laughed together before falling silent, draining the foamy remnants of local brew that swam in the bottom of their mugs.

Henri lifted a watch from his vest pocket, squinting his eyes as he tried to focus on it. That was the only outward sign of the inebriated state in which Henri spent most of his days. He placed the watch back in his pocket. "I believe it is time for me to make my way back to the enfolding arms of my beloved family. What of you?"

"I think I shall spend a few more hours here," Didier told him as he focused on the men who just walked through the front door. "I see some acquaintances."

Henri looked over his shoulder as he stood. "Ah, the local gentry," he grimaced.

Didier also stood, mug in hand. "But they are so interesting," he replied with a smile and then grew serious, "and capable of doing things the likes of which you and I can only dream."

Henri paused in thought for a moment. "Intriguing," he said before smiling slyly, "but I have a more urgent matter to which I must attend." He winked at Didier before sweeping out of the inn and to the stable where he retrieved his horse.

The ride back to Chagny took nearly two hours as Henri allowed his mount to set the speed of travel. He was grateful for the steady pace the horse chose for it allowed his body to assimilate the alcohol he had consumed over the course of the late morning and early afternoon. Henri's mind also cleared itself of the effects from the ale that he had enjoyed. His thoughts may have slowly and steadily become clearer but that did not mean that they changed for Henri still thought upon his cousins and their positions. He thought upon his family and their positions and Henri could feel the anger rising in his breast. Henri loosed his grip on the reins as his fingers curled in anger and frustration.

He thought of his family living in England. Their home was large and lovely and comfortable and Henri could find no fault with it. Nor could he find fault with the life that his parents had given him. Henri was handsome and finely built. He had a quick wit and easy charm that covered the flaws in his character. He had traveled in the circle of wealth and privilege and was considered a worthy catch for any eligible young woman with more money than sense. But somehow none of it seemed to matter when compared to the family name and wealth that resided in France.

Henri resented what he saw as the self-indulgent lives his French cousins lived. He could not believe that Philippe - who was the head of the family - would allow his brother to bring such disgrace to an ancient and honored family name by marrying a mere chorus girl. Henri was amazed that Raoul could walk away with no consequences from the carnage that had occurred at the opera house. Everything his cousin had ever wanted was handed to him upon a silver platter and everything he touched seemed to turn to gold and it infuriated Henri that Philippe did not care. All Philippe appeared to worry over was his huge home and the comfortable country life he had carved out for himself. The man who was to be respected as head of the family did nothing - in Henri's eyes - to earn that respect. Philippe let Raoul do as he wished with no thought of the consequences to the other members of the family.

All of these thoughts passed through Henri's mind as he dismounted his horse at the bottom of the steps that led up to the front door of Chagny. One thought, though, demanded his attention as he strode through that front door and caught a glimpse of dark curls and yellow silk disappearing down a hallway - Christine.

"We will see just what kind of a little trollop you are," Henri muttered under his breath.

"Beg pardon, sir?" the ever present footman asked.

Henri turned on his smile and charm. "Nothing, my good man," he told the servant. "Just a stray passing thought. I believe I shall go gather my wits about me." Henri clasped the man on the shoulder, knowing it was bad form but also knowing that it was expected. He gave the man a last broad smile before walking off down the same hallway in which he had seen Christine.

His anger and frustration still laying claim to his emotions, Henri walked into one of the drawing rooms searching for something to calm his emotions. He found it in a decanter of claret that sat upon a highly polished side table. Some thirty minutes later, Henri found his emotions once more under his rather dubious control. He also found himself more certain than ever to test his theory that his dear cousin's lovely wife was not as faithful and loving as she appeared to be. Henri replaced the now empty decanter on its silver tray and returned to the hallway. He knew that there could only be one place into which Christine could disappear from that hallway.

Henri walked to the end of the hall, stopping before a set of French doors and peering into the conservatory. His lips curled into an unpleasant smile as he took note of Christine resting upon a chaise lounge, her hands folded over her stomach and her eyes closed. Henri carefully and quietly opened the doors into the huge, glass-enclosed room, closing them just as silently once he was inside. He carefully walked along the side wall, watching the distribution of his weight so that his footfalls made little or no noise. All the while he kept a careful eye on Christine. Henri knew where he was going and stopped along the back wall where the glass of the outside walls met the brick of the main house. He reached up and took a book off a nearby shelf and walked back the way he had come. Back toward Christine.

"Oh dear!" Henri exclaimed as he bumped into the chaise where Christine rested, his hand going to his knee.

Christine's eyes flew open and she looked around herself in a panic. Her hand went to her throat as she saw Henri behind her. "Thank God," Christine breathed as she reached out for Raoul's cousin. "Are you quite all right?"

"I was trained as a dancer; you would think I would know enough to be aware of my surroundings," Henri began and plastered a smile upon his face. "I was just so engrossed in scanning through this book that I did not see where I was going. I did not see you and I am sorry if I startled you from your rest." He looked longingly at the chaise. "May I sit for a moment?"

Christine sat up and swung her legs to the side. She was still uncomfortable around Henri but he was Raoul's cousin and she would be good to him for that reason alone. "Please," she said.

"Thank you," Henri replied as he sat down, placing the book on the floor and still rubbing his knee.

"I always forget that you are a dancer," Christine told him. "I do not know why such a thing slips my mind for you carry yourself with a dancer's ease." She gave Henri a small smile as he raised his face from studying his bumped knee. "Do you miss the dance?"

Henri shook his head. "Not really," he told Christine. "I did not want it but my parents insisted. What of you? Do you miss it now that you are married and a vicomtess?"

Christine sighed. "I do miss it," she admitted. "I miss the lessons shared with other girls. I miss the discipline and concentration it required."

"What of the applause?" Henri interrupted.

"There are other ways to receive applause," Christine told him softly. "One does not need the adulation of the crowd to know one's efforts are appreciated."

Henri reached up to touch the pin in his cravat. "And if I have forgotten to tell you, this is very much appreciated." He carefully laid a hand upon the one Christine rested upon the velvet covering the chaise. "Thank you."

Christine fought back the urge to look down and instead kept her eyes upon the man seated next to her. "I am glad it pleases you."

"Might I be so bold as to ask what you purchased for Cousin Raoul?" Henri asked. "I could not help but notice that he did not receive a package from your trip."

"There is a gift," Christine assured him. "It is a surprise and must wait for a few more weeks before it will be ready."

"Always the waiting," Henri said. "Then I consider myself quite fortunate that I did not have to wait." He scooted closer to Christine. "Thank you, dear cousin," he breathed as he leaned over to kiss Christine's cheek.

"You are welcome," Christine replied, a frown crossing her delicate features she felt Henri tightly clasp her hand. "What ..." she could say no more words as Henri turned his head and captured her lips. Christine felt herself being pushed back down upon the chaise under Henri's weight. She froze, frightened, unsure of what was happening, what she should do. Then a thought cut through the confusion and something she had never felt before stirred within Christine and she twisted her head away from Henri. "What are you doing?" she hissed.

"Loving a member of my family," Henri breathed in her ear before capturing the lobe between his teeth and gently tugging on it. His free hand captured Christine's other and he raised both her hands over her head.

"Get off of me!" Christine told him.

"Come, come," Henri smiled at her. "You are a married woman; surely this cannot be unfamiliar or unpleasant." He reached in and captured her lips again.

Christine could feel the nausea begin to bubble in her stomach and rise up into her throat. The touch of Henri's lips against hers, his hands pinning her own hands still and useless was more than Christine could bear and a primal instinct of survival and protection welled up within her and she lashed out. Christine managed to free one of her legs and she bent her knee, driving it upwards and hoping it would connect with any body part that would move Henri off of her.

The groan that escaped from Henri's lips as he tumbled off of Christine and onto the floor told Christine all she needed to know.

Christine quickly got to her feet, flushed and flustered, wiping her hands over her mouth. "If you ever try that again, I will tell Raoul and he will kill you," she told Henri in a deadly tone of voice.

Henri was on the floor, one hand to his solar plexus, as he struggled to catch his breath. Yet he still managed to glare up at the woman standing over him. "Do you think he truly cares? Do you?" Henri said between clenched teeth, anger and pain marring his handsome face. "After the way you have been treating him lately? The whole family knows you have taken a lover."

"That is not true!" Christine interrupted. "It is a lie!"

"You and your phantom lover," Henri spit out. "You should have stayed with him and let my cousin go!"

Christine could hear no more and she ran for the doors that led from the conservatory into the garden. She did not stop to close the doors as she ran through the formal landscape of the back gardens, Henri's words ringing in her head. Christine did not stop until she reached the shadowed safety of a small group of oak trees. She finally stopped, a hand reaching out for a tree to steady herself. Christine bent over as the nausea claimed her and she lost everything that she had managed to eat since that morning. As her stomach gave up the last of its contents, the tears began and Christine sobbed as if her heart would break. She did not know if she cried because she was being ill or if she cried for what she was doing to her marriage. She could feel herself begin to shake and wondered if it was nerves or the fears that always haunted her. Christine jumped as she felt a gentle pair of hands upon her shoulders.

"I saw you run from the house," a female voice said. "Are you all right? Do you wish me to send for your husband or a doctor?"

Christine managed a quick glance over her shoulder. She saw Mathilde, Philippe's housekeeper, there, looking at her with concern. "No doctor," she said with a shake of her head. "And - please! - I do not wish my husband to know."

"That will not be a problem," Mathilde assured her. "I will have one of the stable boys come to clean this; no one need ever know."

"Thank you," Christine breathed as she stood up straight, still holding to the tree. She looked down as a small towel was placed into her hands.

"Wipe your face before we go back to the house," Mathilde said and waited until Christine did as she was told. "Now," Mathilde continued on as she took back the towel, slipping it into the waistband of her apron, "you will come into my room off the kitchen and rinse out your mouth. Then you shall have some chamomile and spearmint tea. It will help to settle your stomach and chase away any bad tastes."

"Thank you," Christine said, grateful for the arm that wrapped itself about her waist in strong but gentle support.

"No need for thanks," Mathilde told her. "I have been taking care of this family since before the Vicomte was born and I will be taking care of this family until the day I die. I have seen it all." Her glance turned toward the conservatory where the doors were being close. "I have seen it all," she repeated, a stern look on her face.

"Please do not say anything!" Christine pleaded as she, too, took note of the closing doors.

"Not a word shall pass my lips," Mathilde replied. "But if anything should happen again, I want you to come to me and I shall take care of it in my own way."

Christine nodded, grateful for one person who did not seem to be judging her. "I promise," she sighed. "I promise."


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Summary:** Observations are made about those living at Chagny. The men in the woods grow impatient even as they are assured their waiting is soon to be over. A telegram is delivered to Raoul and he confronts his wife.

_(A/N – Since most people have figured out Christine's secret … Saint Joseph is the Patron Saint of fathers.)_

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Arthur Weldon rose early, dressed and made his way downstairs for the great house was quiet in the early morning hours just after sunrise and afforded him the opportunity to concentrate on the day that lay before him. Arthur knew there was paperwork left from the day before and that there would be additional work delivered in the morning post that was to come within the next three hours. He sighed and shook his head and wondered when Philippe would once again begin paying attention to the details - small and large - that entailed the running of Chagny. Arthur knew that his employer and friend trusted his staff and, in fact, had known most of them for many years. Yet Arthur also knew that Philippe took great pride in what he had accomplished upon returning to his ancestral home and there would only be one reason that could distract Philippe in such a manner.

Raoul. His brother. The person on whose shoulders Philippe had placed the hopes and dreams of generations extending far back into the mists of time. The person on whose shoulders Philippe had placed his own dashed hopes and dreams. Arthur wondered if all those lives, all those wishes, were too much for one young man to carry and he made a mental note to bring it up to Philippe later that day. Raoul and his wife had already been through enough in their short time together and Arthur thought that such a familial burden may be why the young couple seemed to be drifting further and further apart. Perhaps it was too much to ask of them - to be the family's future - when all they wanted to be was young. It could not have been good for them to be under the constant scrutiny of Philippe and - Arthur frowned - the meddling of Henri.

"Paris," Arthur said to himself. "They need to be in Paris." He stood silently at the doors of Philippe's study, eyes narrowing, nodding his head, knowing that he was making the correct decision.

"Pardon me, Monsieur Weldon," a female voice interrupted his thoughts. "May I have a word with you?"

Arthur turned to find Mathilde at his elbow, her arms crossed at her waist. "Certainly," he replied and motioned toward the study door. "In here?"

Mathilde shook her head. "No," she told him.

"The small parlor?" Arthur tried and watched as Mathilde nodded her head. He walked down the hall, stopping to open a closed door. He waited as the housekeeper entered the small parlor, taking a seat on a green sofa before entering the room and closing the door behind him. Arthur walked over and sat in one of the wing chairs opposite the sofa. He studied Mathilde's face, wondering at the emotions he could not see. Arthur knew it was unlike Mathilde to approach him in such a strange, elusive manner and he could feel a small worry begin to flutter at the edges of his heart. "May I ask what this is in regards to?" Arthur asked softly.

The housekeeper shook her head before speaking. "I am not one to tell tales nor do I tolerate such behavior from my staff," Mathilde began and watched as Arthur inclined his head. Every member of the household was deeply aware of the strict code of conduct that Mathilde enforced so whatever it was troubling her must - indeed - be important if she chose to break the very rules which guided her life. "There was something I witnessed late yesterday afternoon and I wish you to be aware of it for I do not want to see any discord arise amongst the members of this family."

Arthur shook his head; he had a sinking feeling he knew what was coming. "Please continue," he said softly.

"As I was working in the herb garden yesterday, I looked up and saw Madame running from the conservatory," Mathilde said. "From what I could see she appeared to be upset so I made the decision to follow her. I found her being ill in the woods. I brought her back to my sitting room and gave her something to settle her stomach. On our way back to my room, we both saw the door to the conservatory being closed." She frowned slightly and shook her head. "It was being closed by Monsieur Henri."

Arthur closed his eyes in pain; he had known it. God help him, he had known something like this was bound to happen. "Was Madame all right?" he asked as he opened his eyes.

"Yes," Mathilde nodded, "and she was emphatic that no one know but I cannot let this pass. I am aware of the intrigues that are played out by those of a certain class but I will not tolerate them in my house; especially when such intrigues seem to be one sided."

Fingers on the hands folded in Arthur's lap steepled and he looked down at them. "I see." He raised his head. "I believe I shall have a private word with Monsieur Henri and remind him what his position is in this household."

"Thank you," Mathilde said as she stood. "I knew I could trust you."

Arthur also stood. "I am glad you came to me."

"I must go and attend to the cooks," Mathilde told him as Arthur walked to the parlor door and opened it for her.

"I can promise you that there will be no further intrigues inside these walls this day."

The intrigues from the previous day did seem to vanish with the light of the sun and the rhythm of life at Chagny moved forward at its usual pace. Philippe looked around at his family, smiling on the outside but worrying quietly on the inside, pondering locked doors and contemplating spankings. Raoul watched as his wife, pale and silent, picked at her food and jumped at every little sound. It was almost as if Christine was once again the frightened, haunted girl he had married. Her actions pained and infuriated Raoul for he did not know what to do to help. Even worse was that she seemed completely disinclined to tell him what it was that she needed. Christine knew what she was doing but could not stop herself; the unnamed fears that were never far seemed to have wrapped around her heart and soul, unwilling to give any ground. Henri's actions of the previous day resurrected the memory of another man and other hands and other fears, memories that Christine had tried so hard to bury but could never outrun. And Henri, after putting in a token appearance at breakfast, had slunk off to some unknown place to salve wounds - real and imagined - with the healing balm of alcohol.

Alcohol was also on the minds that morning of four men who waited with growing impatience in a wooded glen. They had been there for over a week, living in the woods, taking turns sleeping, watching and venturing into town. Their nerves were on edge as they waited day after day, the moment for which they waited never seeming to come. They had begun to snipe at each other over little things - snoring too loudly, taking too long to relieve the watch, burning the food, letting the fire go out. And with each passing day, as the waiting seemed to extend further and further into the future, the men's impatience grew proportionately. In an effort to calm unsettled nerves, each man who went into town brought back a bottle of the cheapest liquor he could find. They could have afforded better but the men had big plans and ideas for the money being paid to them just to sit and wait. So, instead, they drank cheap liquor, sniped at each other and waited – anxiously and impatiently - for just the right moment.

Louis took a swallow from the bottle he held, swiped a hand across his lips and passed it to Edouard who sat to his right. He looked at Edouard from the corner of his narrowed eyes. "Watch how much you drink of that," he warned. "We won't be having any more for another day or so."

"Why would that be?" Edouard wondered as he passed the bottle to Francois.

Francois paused before he drank from the bottle. "Are you saying we have to stay here?"

"I am," Louis replied with a nod. "There will be no further trips into town."

Francois took a healthy swig. "Why?" He was rather indignant.

"Because I told him you could not leave," a voice said from the woods as a well-dressed man approached from beneath the shadows. Nico quickly rose to his feet, his hand going for the knife at his waistband. "Oh, do put that down," he said. "There is no need for such theatrics amongst friends." He spread his hands wide. "And are we not all friends here?"

Nico remained on his feet. "Friends do not feel the need to approach with such stealth," he said in a dangerous tone of voice.

"I have learned how to move quietly," the man replied. "It is a habit that I find quite useful."

Francois raised his eyes to the man. "Why can we not leave this place? If I have to stay here one more day without the chance to leave ..."

The well-dressed man raised his hand, a particularly nasty smirk on his face. "Oh, I do not think that you shall mind waiting here this day."

"And why would that be?" Edouard wanted to know.

"Because I believe that today shall be the day for which we have all waited," he said and moved to sit on the log next to Louis. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a bottle. "And while we wait, I thought you would appreciate something with a bit more grace than that pig-wash you are drinking."

Nico's lip curled. "I care nothing for pig-wash," he said as he ran a finger along the blade of his knife. "All I wish is for this waiting to be over."

The four men eyed Nico, feeling a bit nervous as they watched the smile that played across his face as his hands lovingly caressed the sharp knife blade. They were perfectly aware that he was a vital part of the job that lay before them but that did nothing to ease their apprehension. Nico was known for his love of blood sports and all his acquaintances know that Nico did not care what type of animal the sport was played upon – four-legged or two.

Nico continued to caress his knife blade as if it was his favorite lover and he kept repeating the same words. "All I want is for the waiting to be over,"

"All I want is for the waiting to be over," Christine said softly as she ran a finger over the Saint Joseph medal that rested in a small blue velvet box. It had been the only one in the village jewelry shop and she had eagerly purchased it, swearing the jeweler to secrecy. "A few more weeks," Christine continued as she raised her eyes to look out the window toward the heavens. "May I please have a few more weeks," she prayed as she closed the small box she held, slipping it back into a dresser drawer beneath some scarves. Christine wanted no one to find it as she was keeping it for a special moment. She could not wait to present it to Raoul, could not wait to see his reaction, and could not wait to see him wear it next to the cross he never took off. She closed the drawer and walked across the room, pausing as a familiar wave of nausea washed over her. "A few more weeks," she pleaded again. "Just a few more weeks."

Christine walked out the door and down the main staircase. She stood in the entry foyer, finding herself at a loss for what to do. She thought she might see if she could convince one of the coachmen to drive her to see Monique. Christine wanted to escape to the conservatory but could not bear the memories that the once peaceful place now held. She spared a glance at the grandfather clock and saw that it was barely past noon and knew that luncheon would not be for at least another two hours. Christine began to wander toward the small staircase at the back of the house that led to the kitchen, hoping that she could convince Mathilde to give her another cup of chamomile and mint tea from the previous day. She knew her behavior was not considered "proper" but Christine had found such warmth and comfort from the older woman on the previous day and now she eagerly sought it out again. Christine wondered for a brief moment when she would stop seeking out the comfort of a mother she had never known and a smile crossed her lips for she knew exactly when she would stop seeking out such a thing. She reached the small staircase and paused as she saw Arthur coming up, his attention on the envelopes he held in his hands.

"Pardon me," Arthur said with a smile as he finally raised his eyes. "I did not see you there."

"I am trying to remain unobtrusive," Christine told him. "I do not wish to be a burden."

"You are not a burden," Arthur assured her. "I know that Philippe quite enjoys having you and Raoul here." He studied the creeping blush and the lowered eyes of the young woman in front of him. "If you would not mind my asking you a question," he tried and saw Christine shake her head. "Would you be happier if you were to return to Paris?"

Christine quickly raised her head. "What?"

"I am in a position that allows me to observe the movements of those about me," Arthur said. "I know that you have had some difficult moments over the past few weeks. I also know that it cannot be easy being under the constant watch of Philippe. He is my employer and my friend but I am aware of how quietly difficult he can be at times."

"Much like his brother," Christine replied softly, almost to herself. "Raoul is happy being here and I do not wish to shorten his visit with his brother. There are but a few more weeks before we return to Paris." She managed a brief smile. "It is nothing that I cannot manage."

"Very well," Arthur replied. "But should you find you need anything - even someone who would be willing to listen - if that is not too forward, I pray you will seek me out."

Christine sighed. "It is not and I thank you." She reached out a tentative hand. "I shall remember your kindness."

Arthur lightly touched her hand before stepping aside so that Christine could walk to the kitchen. He watched the young woman as she disappeared around the corner before climbing the rest of the stairs and heading toward Philippe's study. He paused at the study door for a moment and wondered why Christine seemed to be hiding the love she felt for her husband. Arthur wondered why Raoul just did not go and shake his wife until they both could see what was waiting before their eyes. He wondered at the sense of what Philippe had done and wondered if his good intentions would all go awry. Arthur sighed and shook his head, knowing that all his wondering was merely a child's game being played and would amount to nothing. He knew that the people about him would do as they their hearts dictated and he would be there to sort out the messes they would make in the process. Arthur glanced at the envelopes in his hand and smiled; at least there would be a bit of happiness for someone. He raised his eyes, knocked on the study door and entered the room.

Philippe and Raoul were seated at Philippe's desk, account books opened before them. The two brothers looked up as the door opened.

"Ah," Philippe said, "the mail at last."

"The messenger from the village apologized," Arthur began, "but his horse threw a shoe and needed to be reshod."

Philippe grimaced lightly at the look from his young brother. "It is part of the joys of residing in the country. The whole world cannot be Paris, my dear boy."

"How awful it must be for you to be so neglected out here in the pre-historic wilds of France," Raoul said with a perfectly straight face.

Philippe flung a charcoal pencil at Raoul as they both broke into laughter.

Arthur watched their antics and smiled. He waited a few moments as the two brothers got their laughter under control before clearing his throat to draw their attention. Arthur looked at them and drew a single envelope out from the stack he held in his hands.. "I do believe that the horse was meant to throw that shoe for a telegram arrived with the mail." He handed it to Raoul. "This is addressed to you."

Raoul smiled as he took the envelope, opening it and scanning the telegram inside.

"Who is it from?" Philippe wanted to know.

"It is from Paris," Raoul told him, as he read the brief message inside. And read it again. He felt his heart begin to sink. He re-read it andRaoul could feel his anger grow. He kept his eyes on the message, trying to compose his emotions so that no one else would see them. "It is from our friends Valery and Meg."

"Did Christine not say she telegraphed them when she was shopping with Monique?" Philippe wondered.

"She did." Raoul raised his head and managed to give his brother a smile. "I should go and find Christine; she will want to see this."

Philippe airily waved a hand in his brother's direction. "Go," he said. "Go and find your darling wife and leave me here. Alone." He turned a straight face toward Arthur. "Working under the cold hand and strict guidance of my dear friend."

"Thank you," Raoul said, the knowledge of what was contained in the telegram distracting his attention as he stood and left the room.

Philippe looked at Arthur, a quizzical look on his face. "Is there something going on I should know about?"

Arthur sighed.

"Oh, there is," Philippe said as realization began to dawn. He closed the estate account books and waved Arthur to the chair Raoul had vacated. "You had best sit and tell me what it is that I am missing."

As Philippe was wondering what he was missing, Raoul was climbing the stairs to the room where he had been sleeping. Alone. He entered the room, closing the door and sagging against it. He fought down the urge to crumple the paper he held in his hands. Raoul took several deep breaths, bringing his emotions under what control he could manage before standing and moving to his dresser. He opened a drawer and reached in, pulling out an envelope addressed to Christine. He shook his head as he looked at it for Raoul had been hoping the day when he would need what the envelope contained would never come. But now it had come and he needed to find the courage to face his wife. As Raoul left his room and went back down the grand staircase, he was finding courage very easy to find in the anger that was claiming every corner of his heart and soul.

"Christine," Raoul said as he plastered a smile on his face. His wife was coming down the hall, a teacup and saucer in her hands.

"What is it?" Christine wondered.

"Can we talk for a moment?" Raoul asked. "I have something I wish to share with you."

"Of course," Christine replied with a smile as she followed her husband into the library. She took a seat in one of the wing chairs that faced the fireplace Raoul went to stand against. Christine placed her teacup on the table next to the chair and folded her hands in her lap. "What is it?" she wondered.

Raoul wondered how the woman in front of him could be sweet and deceitful at the same moment. He bit down his anger for another few moments. "We received a telegram from Paris this morning," he said and noticed that Christine's curiosity was piqued.

"From whom?"

Raoul lowered his eyes. "It was from Meg and Val. They wondered when they were going to hear from you. I thought it rather strange since you said you had telegraphed them when you were shopping with Monique." He finally raised his eyes and his heart broke.

Christine was as pale as a ghost, her eyes wide.

"You have nothing you wish to say?"

"Raoul, I ..." Christine tried and was interrupted by her husband.

"I do not wish to hear it," Raoul said between clenched teeth. He held up a hand as Christine opened her mouth. "I said I do not want to hear it!" He nearly shouted at her and watched as Christine shrank into her chair. A small part of Raoul was distressed at the pain he was causing his wife and it made him draw several deep breaths. "I will talk and you will listen," he finally managed in a somewhat even tone of voice. "This is the first time you have ever willingly lied to me and I do not understand why!"

Christine lowered her eyes, unwilling to look at her husband. "I cannot explain it to you," she said softly. "You must trust me."

Raoul was incredulous. "Trust you? Trust you? Name me one thing you have done over these last weeks to earn my trust." There was no answer. "One thing, Christine, just one." There was still no answer. "Please," Raoul pleaded with her. "Can you, at least, do me the courtesy of telling me to whom it was that you sent the telegram?"

Christine sniffled back the tears she could feel beginning at the corners of her eyes and raised her head, briefly looking at Raoul before turning away. "I cannot."

"Cannot or will not?" Raoul wondered and watched as Christine bit her bottom lip, struggling with her answer before turning back to him.

"Will not," Christine whispered.

"I see," Raoul replied.

"No you do not see! I will tell you," Christine tried, the growing panic evident in her voice. "I will. I just need a few more weeks." She watched as Raoul moved from the fireplace to sit in the chair next to her. Christine tried reaching a hand toward him and thought better of it as she carefully studied his face. "Raoul, please!"

Raoul kept his eyes averted. "I have always given you everything you wanted. I have always tried to understand what you were feeling. I have never pressured you for anything. I have been patient as you worked through your fears." He finally turned to look at her. "As we worked through the fears we shared together. But now I wonder if it has been enough, if I have been enough." He lowered his eyes to look at the envelope he held. "I know that I love you but I wonder if you love me; if you have ever loved me." A frown creased his refined features. "Or if I was just the safe alternative to what you truly wanted."

"What?" Christine asked as the tears escaped from her eyes.

"I may be many things but one thing I am not is a dangerous man," he began with a shake of his head. "I know from far too many years spent listening to the idle chatter of drawing rooms that women seem to prefer a man who wears about him an aura of mystery and danger. There is something about the darkness of danger that stirs the passion in a woman's soul." Raoul gave Christine a brief smile. "And you are nothing if not a passionate woman." He returned his eyes to the envelope in his hands. "And I think I am not the man you want – or need – to stir your passions." Raoul heaved a deep sigh and turned to his wife, handing her the envelope he held.

"What is this?" Christine asked, the shock of her husband's words causing a cold numbness to creep through her body.

"It is a letter from our bankers," Raoul said. "It details an account I have set up in your name." He watched as Christine opened the envelope, reading its contents before raising wide eyes to him. "That should be enough money to allow you any creature comfort you would ever desire." He closed his eyes in pain. "I have also sent a letter to my lawyer telling him to begin divorce proceedings should I give him the word."

Christine squeaked. "Divorce?"

Raoul shook his head. "The only thing I can think of to cause the changes I have seen in you over the last several weeks and now the lies is that there is someone else."

"There is," Christine whispered so silently that Raoul did not hear her. She felt a familiar touch on her hand and raised her eyes to her husband.

"If there is someone else, I will not hold you," Raoul said. "All I have ever wanted is your happiness and it seems that is something I can no longer give you. Just do not tell me who it is for I do not think I could bear such knowledge."

"Raoul, please …"

"I am going for a ride to give you time to think," Raoul told her as he took his hand back and stood. "To give us both time to think. If it is true and you no longer love me and wish to go to another, I will not stop you and will, in fact, ensure your safe return to Paris." He walked to the door, paused and turned to look back at the woman with the silent tears coursing down her cheeks. "I am hoping, though, that when I return you will have found the courage to move past whatever fears are holding your heart and soul hostage and will be able to be honest with me as to what has been happening to you. To us." Raoul sighed. "I can handle the truth, Christine, no matter how painful it might be; but I need that truth so I can settle my own fears and doubts and despair." He glanced briefly at the mantle clock. "I shall return in a few hours." With those words, Raoul left the room.

Christine, held hostage by her own fears and the icy numbness of her body, could do nothing but watch him leave.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Summary:** Raoul contemplates the state of life, wondering where his marriage has gone. He begins to grieve what he has lost and returns home to give Christine what he believes will make her happy – her freedom to go to her Angel. Unfortunately, there are others who have different plans for the young man ...

_(A/N – Chapter Warning here folks! Have your tissues, smelling salts, nitro pills … whatever … nearby and ready to use … I'm just saying …)_

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The horse waited at the bottom of the stone stairs that led to the front door of Chagny. Throughout his life Raoul had hopped, skipped and run up and down those very stairs. He had chased after his older sisters, crying as they had left the young child alone with only staff to keep him company. He had walked up the stairs with what dignity an adolescent could muster as he returned home during school holidays, dreading the inevitable meeting with his father. He had flown down the stairs to greet the older brother he adored on the occasions when Philippe could be bothered to draw himself away from the bright lights of Paris. And he had walked up those stairs with an angel on his arm upon returning from a honeymoon All those thoughts and more went through Raoul's mind as he walked down those stairs to the horse that was saddled and ready for him. As Raoul took the reins from the waiting stable boy, he put all those memories back into the locked boxes of his mind. As he mounted the chestnut gelding, Raoul buried the memories of his wife in the darkest corner his thoughts could reach.

He hoped they would stay there but knew they would not.

"Thank you," Raoul told the stable boy. He thought for a moment, feeling the memories of his marriage calling to him from the darkness and decided he needed a fast gallop over the open countryside rather than a quiet walk down his favorite wooded trail. Raoul turned the horse's head toward the end of the lane and began to canter down it.

"Raoul!" a female voice called after him.

Raoul closed his eyes briefly, trying desperately to ignore the pleading tone of the voice calling his name. He clicked his tongue at his mount and kept moving.

"Raoul!" his wife's voice screamed.

Raoul could not see past the hurt he was feeling toward Christine. There was a brief moment when he thought of turning around and running to his wife's arms but the moment quickly disappeared into the overwhelming anger as Raoul remembered that Christine had willingly lied to him. The anger exploded outwards as he realized she had been lying to him for weeks. Raoul shut out the anguish he heard in that scream and dug his heels into the horse's flanks, horse and rider disappearing down the lane, leaving a kneeling woman sobbing at the bottom of the stairs, a confused stable boy standing nearby.

_I do not care, I do not care,_ the thought echoed to every beat of Raoul's heart, every pounding hoof beat of the horse that raced further and further down the country lane. Horse and rider flew over the peaceful countryside until Raoul could no longer hear his wife's screams through the scream of the wind in his ears. He began to pull back on the reins, allowing the horse to slow gradually. Unfortunately the pounding, racing rhythm of his heart did not slow with the horse. As the horse finally stopped, Raoul leaned forward, placing his forehead against the short, scratchy hair of the mane that ran along the neck bone. He straightened and slid from the saddle; the horse turned his head and snorted. Raoul managed something that sounded like a brief laugh as he patted the animal's neck before walking down the road.

Raoul did not see the green trees that went past. Nor did he take note of the early summer wildflowers that waved merrily in sunny fields. He did not see the workers in plowed fields or the others that passed him on the road. Raoul could not feel the warmth from the sun shining so brightly overhead and he could not smell the lightly scented breeze that blew past, ruffling his hair. He could not hear the birds singing or the leaves rustling or the sound of his own boots upon the hard packed dirt of a country lane. Raoul was so numb and withdrawn into himself that it was almost as if a ghost were leading the horse through the French countryside.

_A ghost,_ Raoul thought somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind, _how amusing._

Raoul did not know how long or how far he had walked his horse before he once again began to take note of the world around him. The sun had reached its zenith and was beginning to travel toward the tops of the mountains in the distant horizon. Raoul stopped, closing his eyes as he allowed himself to feel again. He felt the ache from feet that had walked too long and too far. He felt the throbbing in his temples from the emotionally charged blood that raced through every inch of his body. He felt the gentle nudge from a velvety nose at his shoulder. Raoul opened his eyes again to look at his horse and felt a wonderment dawn as he finally took note of where he was, recognizing the scenery.

"I think it is time for both of us to have a rest," Raoul told the horse as he ran a gentle hand over the nose that had brought him further back from the overwhelming numbness that had gripped him ever since he had read the telegram hours earlier.

Raoul walked his horse a little further before turning into a nearly hidden path that led into the woods. He knew this path; he had known it since the first time Philippe had guided him along the disused path that led from the family stables. The path meandered through the woods, moving in and out of the trees, cutting through Chagny land and land to which there was no clear title. It moved back and forth across a thin, shallow river and it was to that river that Raoul led his horse. Man and beast stopped at the edge of the water, Raoul tying his mount's reins to a nearby tree. The horse dipped his head toward the water as Raoul sat down, leaning back against the tree.

"I should have let her go," he said to the horse as it raised its head from the water to look at him before turning its attention to the sweet green grass. Raoul closed his eyes. "I should have let her go." He shook his head in pain as he thought of the woman he loved.

Two years ago he had not believed his eyes when he had seen his childhood friend looking and singing like an angel in front of all Paris. And to think that she had remembered him was nearly more than anything for which he could hope. He had thought her very young and very sweet when she began to speak of the angel which her father had sent. But then there came glimpses of a fear that accompanied her angel, a fear which held her in a tight grip. It was a grip so tight that he wondered what kind of a monstrous thing could do something so evil to such innocence. It would not be long until he would come to know what it - no, who - who it was that held this precious woman in such fear. Yet it had not only been fear that she felt.

Raoul hung his head, placing it on his upraised knees as jealousy began a wild dance with the anger that still held him tightly.

That man. That damned Phantom. He had been there for Christine when she was a lost child looking for a friend. He had been there to guide her through a world full of grieving confusion toward her dream. He had been there for her when Raoul was not and somewhere along the way a bond had been formed - a bond between teacher and pupil, man and woman. A bond that Raoul could barely understand and would never be able to break. Yet he had seen the fear in Christine's eyes whenever her angel was mentioned. He had also seen something warmer in her expressive eyes, an emotional light that Raoul had hoped was for him alone. It had started as a waking dream that worried him and became a horrid reality the night the opera had burned.

He had struggled through fire and water to rescue the woman he longed to make his wife, the image of her held tightly in that man's arms urging him onward. He had finally found her with that other man. He had found her and in his concern for her safety had ignored the small voice that spoke at the fringes of his mind. He had ignored it and his stubbornness had forced Christine into an untenable position. But had it been all that untenable? She had whispered she loved him but then she had gone into that man's arms willingly. And she had embraced him in a way that she had never done for him. She had embraced him like a lover. No. She had embraced him as if he were the love of her life. Even when he had let them go, she had gone back to him.

"She cannot let him go," Raoul said to no one as he raised his head. He reached for a small rock and tossed it into the water, watching the ripples spread outward from the center. "What apt imagery," he snorted.

Every second of their married life, the Phantom had been there, in the center of their lives. Each day they were together was another ripple outward from the Phantom. There had been the ripples close to the Phantom, the fears and nightmares of those first few months together. Yet as time had passed and they had moved forward, the fears and nightmares rippled outward, slowly beginning to fade away. The lives they began to build for themselves growing and expanding, drawing in new friends and new experiences, continuing to move further and further from the haunted center from where they had started.

Raoul reached down to pick up another small stone. He tossed it into the fading ripples from the first stone. He watched as the original ripples were broken and distorted. They faded away and were lost in the new ripples that spread outwards from a new center. A new center and new ripples swallowed the thin, fragile ripples that had been created from the old center. Raoul sat quietly and watched as all the watery ripples spread outwards and disappeared into the greater whole.

"Our lives together," Raoul whispered softly. "Gone. Just like the ripples." He leaned his head his head against the bark of the tree, feeling the rough edges scrape against his scalp. Raoul welcomed the sensation for it reminded him that he was actually still alive, still breathing, still feeling. He looked up toward the sky and let his thoughts drift.

He should have known their happiness together could not have lasted. He had allowed himself to grow complacent as the days and nights they shared together slipped one into another. They had enjoyed golden days full of laughter and silvery nights full of passion. They had laughed and argued and loved. They had taught each other, growing as individuals even as they grew together to make one safe and loving refuge from the outside world. But as the days grew into weeks that grew into months that slowly began to grow into years, he had begun to see a longing in her eyes. He recognized the look for he was sure she had seen the very same look in his eyes – the longing to hold a breathing, cooing, squirming symbol of their devotion and love for each other in their arms. They had tried so hard but still no child came to gladden their hearts and he watched as tiny, almost infinitesimal pieces had begun to break away from her. He would not have cared if there had never been children for she was enough for him - she would always be enough - but he would not say that to her. He could not have hurt her in such a manner. He could not take away her dreams of being the mother she had never known.

And then suddenly, without warning, she had begun to move away from him. Oh, it had been subtle at first; quick kisses rather than long, lingering ones, polite hugs rather than passionate embraces. He should have known something was wrong but could not see beyond the love and adoration he felt for the incredible woman who had chosen to marry him. Then came the stilted conversations, the seemingly forced effort to find something in common about which to speak. The separation was growing and he could no longer ignore it and struggled to make up for something he could not remember doing. He brought her the fragrant lilies that had marked the start of their lives together – a long silent, mutual agreement forbidding roses from their presence. He deferred to her wishes in public and in private and that was when their marital bed became a cold and barren wasteland. It was the moment when a thought had grown in the back of his mind, a thought that frightened him beyond all rationale. It was the thought that had finally coalesced into reality with the arrival of the telegram that morning – there was someone else. And Raoul was certain he knew who it was.

"Damn you, damn you, damn you," Raoul said through clenched teeth as he saw a white-masked face in every cloud that passed by.

She had not loved him, not the way she had loved her angel. He was her safety and her refuge. He was her second choice. He was the alternative to a man who set a passionate fire burning in her soul. His love was not frightening but calming. He had not spent a life living in the dark, dangerously going against every societal dictate. He had played by the rules all his life and did not know any other way to live. He could offer her nothing but his heart and soul and – in the end – it had not been enough. He had not been enough for her. She needed more; far more than he could ever hope to be and she had obviously found it. Raoul could only hope that she had not found it in her angel but he knew he hoped in vain. That man's pull on her emotions was too great to overcome.

Raoul wanted to cry for the aching loss he was beginning to feel in his heart. He felt almost as if someone had died, leaving a huge void that could never possibly be filled. He would need time to grieve after she left him to return to her angel. Perhaps he could go to America. It was a huge land and he could easily get lost there. No one there would know him, would know his life story and with time he might even find some sense of peace. Yet he knew it would be a hollow peace for he would be a hollow shell of a man without the biggest part of his heart. He would walk and talk and breathe but he would do it through the shroud of numbness that now enveloped him from head to toe. A stray thought passed through his mind and Raoul wondered if he would die from this loss. A stranger thought followed causing Raoul to wonder if Christine would be happier if he were dead. He closed in his eyes in pain knowing that once she was back in the arms of her angel she would not care if he lived or died.

Raoul let out a long breath as he rose to his feet; he could not sit in the woods all afternoon for it was only delaying the inevitable. He walked to his horse, untying the reins and slipping a foot into a stirrup. He pushed off with his free leg easily mounting the horse and adjusting his position on the soft leather of the saddle. He looked around contemplating which way to go home before choosing the familiar path through the woods. Raoul did not wish to see anyone he would need to acknowledge. Nor did he want anyone to see him for he wished to mourn his loss in private. He needed to mourn what he could before he reached Chagny and would need to compose himself. He would not allow the world to see any weakness from him. Raoul would find the grace and dignity to give his wife the freedom to find her happiness and once she was gone then – and only then – would he allow his outer façade to crack, giving way to the grief and the ache and the numbness.

"Home," he said in a sad tone of voice as he turned the horse's head, lightly tapping the reins against the animal's shoulders.

They walked in silence through the shadowed woods Raoul's hands barely holding to the reins for the horse knew the way. The horse had been down this path many a time, cantering with head held proudly, racing with eyes ever alert for the stray obstacle and now walking slowly somehow sensing the sadness of his rider. The horse moved with ease, plodding along, always sticking to the path before him. Neither rider nor mount looked left or right but kept eyes narrowly focused on what lay before them; the horse following an ingrained memory and Raoul trying to outrun his own. The horse turned a corner in the path the led through a thick group of trees before emerging into a small open area, picking up his ears, raising his head.

Raoul did not miss the animal's actions. "What is it?" he wondered. The area was known for poachers and Raoul was not in the mood to deal with any other humans.

"Get back here you," a voice called out, followed by a crashing noise echoing through the trees.

The horse began to rear as a man ran from the woods. Raoul tightened his grip on the reins as the horse backpedaled, struggling to gain control.

The man finally stopped as he heard the snorting of the horse. He raised his eyes to see a young man trying to control an animal that pawed at the ground and tossed its head.

"Pardon, young sir," he said with a tip of his hat.

Raoul got his mount under control. "Who are you?"

"Louis," the man replied, "just Louis." He looked worried. "I ain't in any trouble, am I?"

Raoul shook his head. "No," he said. "Do you know where you are?"

"Yes," Louis told him. "This is Chagny land. I heard from some of the villagers that it was okay to hunt on these lands." He briefly dropped his head. "My family needs to eat."

"It is fine," Raoul assured him. "Just make sure you only take what you can use."

"Aye, sir."

"And try to exercise a bit of caution," Raoul warned. "There are riders that pass this way and I would not like to see you become injured."

Louis looked up at the rider, a strange look on his face. "I would not like to see you become injured, either," he said in a voice full of deadly seriousness.

There was something in his eyes that made Raoul further tighten his grip on his horse's reins. "Excuse me," he said, "I must return home."

A gun suddenly appeared in one of Louis's hands as the other reached out to grip the reins that hung from the bit in the horse's mouth. "You ain't going anywhere."

"Let go of my horse," Raoul told him through clenched teeth.

"Do not try anything," Louis warned, a feral smile crossing his face. "Look behind yourself."

Raoul turned his head to see another man behind him. There was another gun pointed at him. He turned back to look at Louis. "What do you want?"

"The horse for starters," Louis said and waved the gun at Raoul. "Off. Now."

Raoul had only thought to go for a ride to escape from the emotional turmoil of the morning and had not come prepared for a confrontation. He did as he was told, slipping easily from the saddle to stand on the ground.

"Francois," Louis called out and a man appeared from the shadowed woods. "Take the horse," he told Francois, never taking his eyes from Raoul. "Money," Louis said as he held out a hand.

"I have none," Raoul replied evenly, unwilling to show any fear in front of these men.

"Surely a man who rides such a fine mount and dresses in such fine clothes must carry a few francs upon his person," Louis said smoothly, his hand still out.

"I left from my home and planned to return to it," Raoul replied. "There was no need for me to carry any funds."

Louis studied Raoul silently for a moment, his eyes drifting to the flash of gold at Raoul's neck. "The cross, then," he ordered. "And slowly," he warned.

Raoul clenched his teeth together as he reached up to his neck to unclasp the chain holding the cross he never took off. It had been his mother's cross and was the only thing he had ever had of the woman he had never known but it was not worth his life. Raoul removed the cross placing it into the palm of a hand he extended towards Louis.

"Edouard," Louis called out and a fourth man appeared from the woods.

Edouard approached Raoul and took the cross from his hand, placing it in his pocket and as he did so, Edouard gripped the wrist of the outstretched hand. "Look at this," he said to Louis as he held up the hand upon which rested a signet ring.

"The ring as well," Louis ordered.

The anger he had felt since confronting Christine about her lies was multiplying by the anger Raoul felt toward the situation in which he found himself. The anger was drowning out the ache and the numbness Raoul had been feeling. He turned to look at Edouard. "Let me have my hand back and you can have the ring," he said, breathing through his nose.

Louis caught the change in the young man's attitude. They could afford no mistakes now. "Nico," he said softly.

Suddenly Raoul could sense another body closing in behind him and he remembered the other man and the other gun.

"Give him his hand," a voice with the smoothness of a snake said from behind Raoul.

Raoul briefly rubbed his wrist as Edouard released it before reaching in to remove the family signet ring. He carefully placed it in Edouard's hand, watching as the man smiled at him before going to stand next to Francois and his horse.

"That is everything of value I have on me," Raoul said. "Take it and go. I will say nothing."

"I think not," Louis said. His gun pointed at Raoul's left hand. "The other ring," the man ordered.

Raoul was startled. "No," he said softly.

"Give us the ring!" Louis's tone was growing deadly.

Raoul allowed his gaze to wander down to his left hand. He stared at the simple gold ring with the entwined initials. Raoul slowly closed his eyes and swallowed. "No," he repeated.

The sound of a trigger being pulled back cut through the potent silence.

"On your knees!" Louis ordered as he leveled the gun at Raoul's forehead.

Raoul dropped to his knees, his hands closing. The middle finger of his left hand gently rubbed against the ring he refused to give up. It was all that remained of the life for which he had dreamed. It was all that was left to remind him that once he had been happy. It was all that was left to remind him that once he had been loved by an angel. "Christine," he whispered to himself. Pain flared, burning his heart as Raoul thought that at last things would be the way they should have always been and Christine could go to her Angel and be happy. Raoul could sense the man behind him close in. He moved his eyelids down, shutting out the bright light of day as he felt the cold metal of a gun barrel placed against the base of his skull. "I love you," Raoul mouthed silently, knowing he would take his love into eternity.

The crack of a gunshot echoed through the quiet woods startling birds out from their perches, sending them squawking into the spring air.

Nico moved around to stand next to Louis, his fingers wiping at the blood on the handle of his pistol. He watched as Louis bent over, reaching down to pull the gold ring from Raoul's finger. He stood, twisting it in his hands, squinting as he tried to make sense of the strange images on the back of the ring.

At the sound of the gunshot another man - far more well-dressed - emerged from the trees. He strode over, looking down at the still figure on the ground before holding out his hand. "Give it to me," he said as a disgusted frown crossed his face. "And do be careful with that gun; we do not want anyone hurt."

"Sorry," Louis replied as he handed over the ring. "Is that writing?"

"Yes," the well-dressed man replied as a smug smile crossed his face. "It says _'One love, one lifetime.'_ How touching." He spared one last glance at the body on the ground. "You know what to do with him," he told the men gathered about as - once again - he disappeared into the trees.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Summary: **Erik struggles with the darkness of the lair that always calls to him. Christine struggles with the her own darkness - and cousin Henri. And the family receives word of what has happened to Raoul.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Erik looked at the small black gnats dancing across his music paper, scowling at them as if they were disobedient children who could understand his anger. He looked at them as if by mere thought he could force them to do as he wished. No, Erik shook his head; to make them do what he was being paid to make them do.

"Ahhh!" Erik screamed through clenched teeth as one arm swept the pages off the piano to scatter onto the floor where they joined their brothers. Erik got to his feet, every line and angle of his body telegraphing his fury and irritation. He stalked back and forth across the living area of the garret he called home, his long strides easily covering the small distance. His arms lashed out at the few personal items he had collected in the last two years, his feet kicking at the papers littering the floor. He finally paused in his irritated rambling to look out one of the dormer windows, his lips pursing into a thin, tight line.

It was daylight. The sun was shining outside the windows and he was stuck in these damn rooms that nearly floated amongst the clouds. Erik stomped over to the two windows, pulling the heavy shades closed, each in turn. He eschewed the gas fixtures and, instead, walked to the small stove. He yanked a straw from the nearby broom, lifting a heavy cast iron lid from the stove, placing the straw into the dwindling fire. Erik carefully withdrew the lighted straw, cupping the flame with his hand and began to move about the room. Anywhere he found a wax taper he lightly touched the straw to the wick. Soon the whole room was bathed in the soft glow from flickering candles. Erik looked around himself and sighed as he blew out the flame at the end of the remaining straw. Now he could work. The light was gone and he was back in the dark.

He was back in his lair.

Erik walked across the room and, once again, took a seat at the piano. He retrieved the quill from the inkwell, holding it in his hand, staring at the paper.

"_Shortly Meg and I will be celebrating our first wedding anniversary,"_ Valery had told him. _" I would like to present her with something unique."_

Erik lightly touched the tip of the quill to the paper.

"_Would you be so gracious as to compose a piece of music that I might give to her as my present?"_ Valery had asked.

Erik closed his eyes, the tip of the quill tapping lighting against the paper.

"_Something that is light and airy and joyous."_ Valery had smiled. _"Much like my little Meg."_

Erik tried to shut out the world much as he had shut out the daylight from his lofty perch.

"_I will pay you handsomely for your efforts,"_ Valery had assured him.

Erik drew forth a picture of Meg in his mind. He saw her with her bright smile and laughing eyes. There was a scratch from the quill. He saw her swirling around, her blonde hair flying about her, as she danced on the stage. There was another scratch. He saw her happy in her life. Another scratch. He saw her compassionate side as she always reached out to those in need - to him. Another scratch. He heard her giggling as she shared secrets with another young woman with long dark hair ... and dark glowing eyes ... and the voice of an angel ... The point of the quill broke through the note paper.

"Damn it," Erik muttered as he opened his eyes. "Damn it, damn it, damn it." He flung the quill away in disgust.

Erik stood and blew out all the candles as he crossed the room. He paused by the door, reaching for the fedora hanging on a hook. He placed it on his head, drawing the brim down over the right side of his face. He had heard whispers from young ladies on the street that wearing his hat in such a way made him look "rakish". Erik did not know that he wished to be considered a "rake" but he was anxiously content to be able to move about in public and if a simple hat allowed him to do just that, then so be it. He slipped on a light jacket and left the small attic garret he called home. He walked down the back stairs, pausing at the bottom to listen to the hum from the small shop that took up the first floor. It sounded busy and Erik currently wanted no part of the world so he slipped out the back door.

Here in the shadows created by the buildings lining the alley, Erik felt at home. It was cool and it was shaded and it was dark. Erik felt a strange comfort began to envelope him as he moved down the shadowed alley. He would always be grateful for the care and kindness shown to him, the effort put forth to drag him from his own depths, raising him up to live near the clouds. Antoinette and Meg had done their best to protect him and to guide him and to teach him about the world he had so long been denied. They had tried but Erik was still not comfortable with the world, with their happiness, with the light. He, too, had tried to be like other people; but the pull of the darkness, the echo of the memories that lived within the darkness still reached out to him, keeping their cold tendrils wrapped tightly around his soul.

Erik continued to walk, exiting the alley and quickly crossing the small, sunny park at the end to enter into the woods that led to Madame Giry's house. Whenever he felt the world closing in upon him, Erik would head for the sun-dappled woods. The woods represented a compromise between the dark of the lair that called to him and the bright universe the beckoned to him. There were bright spots of sun mixed in amongst the shadows - much like his current life.

"My life," Erik snorted as he paused to lean back against a sturdy tree, closing his eyes, seeing the last image he had seen before storming from his garret. "Christine," came the pained whisper as Erik slowly slid down the tree to sit on the cool ground.

He opened his palms and looked at them, slowly curling them into tight fists. He wished he could close his ears as tightly as he closed his hands for he could hear Christine's angelic voice ringing in the corridors of his mind. The sound of her drowned out all other thoughts, her face covered all other faces. Erik could not think of Meg, could not see her face, could not hear the song that was her life over the one face, the one song that always haunted him. He closed his eyes, bending his head to his knees, giving in to the music that haunted the corridors of his mind. Erik listened to the soft melody that gradually swelled to harmonics that could make the angels cry. He fought down the urge to press his hands against his ears as the harmonics crescendoed into screams that felt as if a thousand demons were dancing in his mind.

"How long must you haunt me?" he muttered painfully through clenched teeth. Erik knew the answer even as he spoke the words.

The memory of Christine would haunt him until the end of his days. She would be there in his arms, the easy in and out of her breathing matching his own. Her voice would sing in his mind, finding its way into every note he would place onto paper. He would see the twinkle of her eyes in the stars that shone overhead each night. The softness of her lips would touch his skin in the gentle breezes that blew past. She would dance through his dreams at night and walk by his side during the day. Christine would always be with him. She would be his every heartbeat, the very life blood that flowed through his veins. She would be there because he loved her. He had loved her and lost her. Erik would always wonder at what he could never have and knew that was why Christine would haunt him till the day he died.

"Christine." Erik opened his eyes even as he opened his hands. "I love you." He willed away the tears that always accompanied her memory, forcing down the emotions the physically shook his body. It took a few moments but Erik finally composed himself. He sighed, rising to his feet, feeling the ache in his knees as he finally straightened. Erik ignored the pain as he - once again - began to move through the woods, his strides long and purposeful.

Erik moved quickly through the woods, his long legs easily covering the ground between the village and Madame Giry's home. He moved quickly through the shadows that grew darker as the canopy overhead grew thicker. He fought down the urge to run for he knew he could not outrun the monster that nipped at his heels; Erik knew he could not outrun himself. He continued to walk through the woods, the normally comforting music of Nature unable this day to break through the music that pounded insistently inside his mind. Erik paused for a moment in the deep shadows at the center of the woods letting the cool, damp darkness wash over him in a strange comfort. He inhaled the damp mustiness of continual decay, the familiar odor calming the throbbing in his veins. Erik spread wide his arms as if to gather the moment to himself, to hold to it, to hold to something peaceful and reassuring. As his arms slowly lowered, a smile crossed Erik's face as he finally began to hear the music of the woods, the darkness unfolding the pain about his soul, opening it up to the world that waited..

He began to walk from the darkness at the center of the woods, heading for the light that beckoned at the edges. Erik moved slowly but with no less purpose, the monster at this heels slowly disappearing back from where it had come. He welcomed the sun as it broke through the leafy branches overhead, enjoying the warmth of it on his cool skin. There were still shadows on the ground to match the shadows on his heart but the light was breaking through, chasing away the painful memories that tormented him and leaving only the aching lightness of hopes and dreams that could never be.

Erik had reached the edge of the woods and he paused to look into the expanse of the back garden that reached toward Madame Giry's house. He stood in the remaining shadows, knowing he was not visible, watching the scene of every day life that played out before his eyes.

Antoinette, dressed in her ever present black, had a long basket over one arm and she was bending over a well-manicured flower bed. Her hands reached in and a long flower was snipped and placed in the basket, adding to the riot of color that gleamed against the darkness of her clothing. She straightened and turned to the girl who knelt on the ground behind her. She must have said something that Erik could not hear for Tallis raised her head and smiled up at Antoinette.

Erik closed his eyes at the brightness of that smile, his hand reaching out for the strength of a nearby tree. He opened his eyes again to see the two women laughing, the sound of it carried along on a stray breeze. Erik studied Tallis as the music of her laughter penetrated the music that had played in his mind all morning, chasing away some of his ever present pain. He noted the way the sun gleamed off the golden highlights in her brown hair, making it seem as if she wore the halo of an angel; Erik shook away that memory. His artist's eyes admired the way her chin gently flowed into the curve of her neck; his eyes tracing the lines of her body as they swelled into the softness that caused her bodice to move easily with each breath. Erik smiled as Tallis lowered her head only to toss it back, her loose hair flying about her shoulders, a wide smile on her full lips. Antoinette extended a hand to the young woman and Tallis took it, rising to her feet, brushing the dirt from the knees of her skirt. Erik's fingers curled as he remembered another day in the garden, a man and a woman brushing dust from themselves. The blood began to rush through his veins again and Erik turned away from the two women who were walking arm-in-arm back to the house; he felt evil for watching them.

"I cannot do this to her," he said in an angry tone to the surrounding woods. "I cannot do this to another human being again." The sound of a door closing reached his ears. "I will not do it to her." Erik turned his back on Madame Giry's house and garden, walking back into the dark depths of the woods.

The dark depths of his own soul.

And the woman who so haunted Erik's every waking moment, forever pulling him into the darkness was also feeling the darkness pulling at her as she paced back and forth across a thick Persian rug. It was the darkness brought on by the fears that always held her so tightly. It was the darkness and the fears from which she did not know how to escape. The darkness and the fears from which only one person had ever been able to rescue her.

"Why has he not come home yet?" Christine asked for the hundredth time as she paused to glance at the mantle clock. "It is been hours!" She resumed pacing.

Monique watched the younger woman, a worried look on her face. She and Xavier had arrived an hour ago to have dinner with Philippe and his family. They had entered the house expecting to find the usual warmth that always welcomed them only to find tension exuding from the very walls. It had taken but a moment with Philippe to discover that Raoul and Christine had had a huge disagreement that morning, Raoul storming out, leaving his wife in tears. Xavier and Philippe had disappeared into his study and Monique had sought out Christine in the hopes of offering some comfort to the distressed wife.

"Raoul has always found comfort on the back of horse," Monique tried. "I am sure he is just riding until the anger disappears."

"It has been over five hours!" Christine exclaimed and sank into a nearby chair, a hand going to her neck. "What if something is wrong? What if the horse threw him? What if ..."

Monique stood and walked over to Christine, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. "You must not do that," she said. "Raoul is a grown man and one of the finest horsemen I have ever known." She gave Christine a small smile. "He can also be stubborn and impossible, as I am sure you are perfectly aware and may not know how to apologize for raising his voice to you. I am sure he is just finding the words to say to you as he walks the horse home."

"Do you think so?" Christine's eyes were wide and full of worry.

"I am sure of it," Monique tried, her attention distracted by the sound of a door opening. "I shall go," she quickly told Christine and crossed the room. Monique opened the parlor doors and looked out into the hallway. She sighed and closed the door, turning back to an anxious Christine. "It is just Henri and Didier."

"Oh Lord," Christine whispered as she placed her head into her hands. "Raoul, please come home!"

The door to the parlor opened and Christine raised her head, her hopeful look quickly disappearing as Didier entered the room. He paused in the doorway, the fading feeling of expectation assailing his senses.

"I am sorry," Didier said. "I did not know anyone was here." He looked at Christine whose chin was trembling and then at his aunt who looked decidedly displeased with him. "I will leave."

"One moment," Monique told him as she crossed to his side, lowering her voice. "Where is Henri and how much have you both had to drink this day?"

Didier looked in those stern violet eyes and knew better then to attempt a lie. "I have spent most of the day riding - not drinking. I do not know how much Henri has had to drink for I only met up with him as I began to climb the front stairs. And Henri was drawn aside by Monsieur Weldon as we entered."

At that moment Henri was sitting in a wing chair, his legs crossed, studying his fingernails with feigned disinterest. It was only the angry glint in his hooded eyes that betrayed what he was truly feeling as a servant dared to lecture him.

"And if I ever hear another word that you pressed unwanted attentions upon Madame," Arthur was saying, "I shall see to it that Monsieur le Comte hears of it."

"If any of this is even true," Henri began and raised his eyes, a smirk on his face, "how would_ you_ know they were unwanted?"

Arthur leaned forward from where he rested against the edge of the desk. "I know more than you realize," he replied softly.

Henri stood, the anger on face glowing dangerously. He raked his eyes over Arthur. "What makes you think my cousin will believe anything you say? You are a servant!"

Arthur also stood. "I am trusted in this household. Can you say the same?"

The two men stood quietly, glaring at each other.

"Fah!" Henri spit out, a hand waving in annoyance. He turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, slamming the door open, the sound echoing in the still house.

Another door flew open and Christine burst into the hallway, her eyes desperately searching for a familiar figure. She found only Henri striding toward her. Christine tried to back-pedal from the man who had accosted her the previous afternoon but she was not quick enough and Henri took her arm, pulling her into a nearby room, closing the door behind them. Henri grabbed the frightened woman by the shoulders, his fingers digging into her flesh, his back against the door, blocking the way out.

"Let me go!" Christine ordered Henri. "You are hurting me!"

Henri pulled Christine to him, placing his face next to hers. "I am going to do a good deal more than hurt you," he hissed.

"You have been drinking," Christine said as she turned her face.

"That is none of your business!" Henri replied as he quickly whirled Christine around, slamming her back against the door. He pinned her to the door with his body, one hand releasing an arm to grab her face, forcing her to look at him. "You said you would say nothing to anyone about what happened yesterday! I have just been lectured by that damn Weldon fellow and he warned me to stay away from you." He glared at her. "I should kill you now."

"I_ am_ going to tell Raoul and he _will_ kill you!" Christine managed to tell Henri past the panic that gripped her.

"You think so?" Henri said as his head moved closer so that he could whisper in Christine's ear. "You are a barren little, low born slut and I do not think there is a person in this family - including my sainted cousin - who would miss you if you were gone."

Christine burst into tears. "I hate you, I hate you," she kept repeating in a whisper, feeling her own anxieties growing in proportion to the hateful words that slipped from Henri's lips.

Henri drew back. "There is a fine line between hate and love," he told Christine, before flinging her to the side and disappearing through the door he opened.

Christine felt the world spin about her and bent over, her arms wrapping protectively about her abdomen. She closed her eyes as the familiar nausea began to roil in her stomach. "I should have let you go," she cried, the falling tears dampening the run beneath her feet. "I should have let you go," Christine repeated and slowly straightened, her eyes opening. The room had stopped spinning but the nausea had not fled. Christine inhaled and exhaled deeply through her nose, feeling the worst of the nausea slowly begin to fade. Her arms had never left their protective position and Christine lowered her gaze to them. "Now it's too late." She shook her head sadly. "Too late, too late." She stood still in the silent room, dark memories crawling forth from the deep recesses of her mind. Christine did not close her eyes for she did not wish to block them out; she knew she could not block them out.

In the lengthening shadows cast by a sun that was beginning to set Christine could see two faces - one haunted by a lifetime of anger, the other haunted by a fear that could consume a lifetime. She could feel the blood begin to pound in her temples as she remembered being ordered to choose between the two men she loved in vastly different ways. Christine raised a single hand to the pulse that throbbed at her temple before allowing it to move to her lips, her fingers playing across the soft skin. She remembered the feel of other lips, hungry, seeking lips, lips that demanded in their desperation. Christine placed two fingers in her mouth, tasting the saltiness of her own tears upon them, remembering the taste of saltiness upon other lips. It was the taste of mingled tears as they had found their way back into each other's arms, cheeks touching, lips meeting, freedom but a few steps away. And she had taken the freedom that was offered by both the men she loved, the freedom to walk away from the darkness and the freedom to love and to be loved.

"I should have let him go," Christine said again. "I should have told him to leave and never look back." Her arms once again wrapped about her abdomen. "What have I done? Oh God, what have I done!" She looked out the window at the shadows being cast upon the well-manicured lawn, seeing the masked face of an angel in their lengthening depths. "How long must you haunt me?" she asked.

"Christine." a voice called to her.

Christine looked toward the open door and saw Monique standing there.

"Are you well?" Monique wondered.

Christine could only shake her head.

Monique crossed the room and took Christine's arm. "You had best come with me," she said.

"Raoul?" Christine asked, the hope evident in her tone.

"Come with me," Monique repeated as she lead Christine into the hallway and toward the entry foyer.

Christine could feel her heart drop as they entered the foyer. Philippe was standing there, Xavier next to him, a hand on his arm. One of the stableboys stood behind them, his head lowered, his hat being run through his hands. Christine's eyes flicked to Henri who was standing at the bottom of the staircase, his back turned to her, Didier at his side. "Oh God," Christine breathed. "Where is Raoul? What's happened?" She let go of Monique's arm and went to Philippe. "Please, Philippe; what has happened?" Philippe would not raise his head and Christine looked down, trying to catch his eye when she noticed a piece of paper in his hand. "What is that?" she wondered. "Philippe?"

Philippe finally raised his head and Christine knew the fear in his eyes was mirrored in her own. "It is a note that was pinned to the saddle of Raoul's horse."

Christine was confused. "What?"

"Raoul's horse came back without him," Philippe replied. "And this note was attached to his saddle." He reached out a numb hand to rest on Christine's arm. "It is a note demanding money for his safe return."

Christine saw the world growing dark before her eyes. "What?" she heard herself ask from a million miles away. She did not feel Monique move up behind her, taking her lightly by the arms. She could barely see Xavier give her a wan smile or his hand tighten in comfort on Philippe's shoulder.

"Christine," Xavier began softly. "It would appear that Raoul has been abducted."


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Summary:** Raoul awakens in a deserted cottage with men who mean him nothing but harm. Philippe and Christine receive another letter and a very graphic warning.

_**(Author's Notes: Okay folks, the icky torture bits begin with this chapter. Explicit violence and possible emotional disturbance for the reader ahead. Consider yourselves warned! And I mean it!)**_

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The cottage was located in a glen deep in woods that eventually crept up the mountains outside the village of Chagny. Long ago someone had tried to carve out a life from the primeval forest. They had felled trees and hauled stumps. They had dug up rocks, using them to fashion a three room house. They had plowed the hard ground, slaving and sweating as they struggled to tame what could not be tamed. After years of hard work that had claimed dreams and lives, the small glen had been grudgingly returned to the surrounding woods. The human inhabitants had gone, leaving behind all their hopes and dreams, taking with them only the bitter taste of failure. The cottage had then stood still and silent; its walls and windows witnessing only the constant change of the seasons. It had been that way for many years until someone had stumbled across it and a plan had formed in the dark recesses of a troubled mind. Now the cottage was no longer lonely but the walls could not speak to the happiness or sadness they felt in regards to the new inhabitants.

Three of the new inhabitants sat around a rickety table, passing a hand-blown green bottle back and forth as they slammed cards down. They studied their opponents, careful to move quickly when the cards fell in their favor. It appeared that all their concentration was focused on the game and the bottle before them. Yet at every small sound from the next room, their eyes would travel from the card game to gaze intently at the shadowed opening. As the sounds disappeared into the darkness of the room, the three men would shake their heads and return their attention to the cards that distracted them and the bottle that numbed their senses.

Inside that darkened room, a fourth man sat upon a handmade chair that leaned against a wall. His hands were twisting a knife with an elaborately carved handle back and forth. His fingers would occasionally give a loving caress to the sharp blade, a small smile passing his lips as he contemplated all the pleasure that awaited him at the end of that blade. While his hands played with the knife, his dark eyes never strayed from the opposite wall of the room. He watched the shadowy shape that slumped against that wall, listening to the soft sounds that came across the room. He could feel the fire burn in his veins as the sounds began to happen more often, growing in volume. The twisting of the knife began to slow as the man straightened knowing that the moment he had been anticipating was close. So close that the fire he felt began to grow into a blaze of anticipation that wrapped him in its heated excitement. A stray thought passed through his mind as he set all four of the chair legs upon the floor – he wondered what was being felt by the person on the opposite side of the room.

The first thing Raoul felt was a throbbing in his head that seemed to be centered at the base of his skull. He kept his eyes closed as he struggled to think past the pounding ache, finding it difficult to put two coherent words together. Some strange little instinct urged him to keep his head bowed and Raoul found himself following that urge as he gingerly reached out to the darkness beyond the ache. He first struggled to understand the cool dampness that assailed the back of his legs and Raoul slowly realized he was sitting on a floor of some sort. That was good; it was something he could understand. He slowly moved his sensory exploration upwards and felt a heaviness holding tightly to his chest and arms. Raoul swallowed deeply as he struggled to understand the feeling without opening his eyes. He tried flexing the muscles in his upper arms and as the muscles came up against an unmovable force, Raoul carefully cracked his eyelids open. And his heart fell to the bottom of his stomach. Chains. There were chains wrapped around his upper torso and they were binding him to a wooden pole whose rough-hewn surface dug into this back through the thin linen of his shirt. Raoul slowly closed his eyelids as he tried to still the panic that raced through his veins. He willed himself to think calmly, to try and remember how he had gotten here.

_Oh God_, he thought, _the men in the woods_. A feeling of self-disgust washed over him as Raoul wondered why he had not fought back, had not tried harder to go against them. Then he remembered the two guns pointed at him and amazement replaced the disgust as he finally realized he was not dead. Raoul involuntarily raised his head as the realization that he was actually still alive crossed his mind and he winced, moaning lightly as the tender spot on the back of his head connected with the wooden pole.

"He's awake," a voice called out.

Raoul heard the sound of heavy footsteps on the floor.

"Oh, is he now?" another voice asked.

Raoul could feel the touch of hot breath against his cheek, a body standing next to him.

"He is," the first voice replied softly. "Open your eyes," the voice ordered.

Raoul was not yet ready to face what lay before him and kept his eyes closed. He felt something cool run down his cheek to rest on his neck.

"I said open your damn eyes!"

Something sharp and pointed pushed at the tender flesh beneath his chin and Raoul inhaled deeply to steady his nerves before opening his eyes.

"Such a good boy," the man holding the knife beneath his chin said.

"Who are you and what do you want with me?" Raoul asked.

There was a movement in the shadowed room and Raoul risked removing his eyes from the man before him. He saw an older man approach and Raoul recognized him as the man who had originally grabbed his horse.

"The name is Louis," the older man said as he approached. "I can see you remember me. Good." Louis stopped just short of where Raoul sat bound to the post, nudging the sole of Raoul's boot with the tip of his own. "That," he said as he nodded to the other man, "is Nico. I suggest you do not try anything foolish; he has a bit of a blood lust, our Nico does."

Raoul could feel the point of the blade caress his skin and willed himself not to look at Nico. "What do you want with me?"

"What does anyone want with the son of a wealthy family," Louis smiled at the surprise in Raoul's eyes. "Oh, we have been waiting for you to come our way a very long time, Monsieur le Vicomte." He chuckled; it was not a merry sound. "As to what we want, why that should be perfectly obvious – money. We want money for your safe return. It is as simple as that. Your brother pays what we tell him to pay and we return you to the arms of your family."

"Philippe will never give in to your demands," Raoul said through clenched teeth. He and Philippe had discussed this very possibility on more than one occasion, each of them agreeing to never give into such demands for the fear of perpetuating more such actions.

"Then, perhaps, your lovely wife will pay to have you returned," Nico whispered in Raoul's ear, his voice silky smooth and very deadly.

_Christine_, Raoul's mind cried out, a wave of despair washing over him.

The knife moved away from Raoul's chin as Nico began to lightly run it across the skin of Raoul's neck. "Or should we take her as well? Would your brother pay to have you both returned to him?"

The proposed threat to the woman he would always love - despite any real or imagined hurts - momentarily chased away the pounding pain and Raoul's head whirled toward Nico, the anger evident in his face. "You touch her and I will kill you!"

The knife in Nico's hand moved away from his neck to poke at the chains binding Raoul. "I do not believe you are in a position to make any threats, Monsieur," Nico said with a smile on his face. Suddenly the hand holding the knife lashed out and Raoul cried out in pain as the blade connected with the flesh beneath his collarbone. Nico held the bloody knife in front of Raoul's eyes. "That was only a warning," Nico hissed. "Remember - you hold no power in this place."

Raoul stared at Nico, his chest heaving against his chains, the warmth of his blood tracing trails of fire down his chest, staining the white linen of his shirt. Raoul locked his jaws together in an effort to keep thoughts and words to himself; the only sign of his inner anguish and turmoil, the movement of the muscles at the edge of his jaw line.

"Do not say that I did not warn you," Louis reminded Raoul in a tone of voice meant to be friendly but that carried with it the promise of more pain to come. He once again kicked out at Raoul's boot to get his attention and waited until Raoul had turned back to him. "I really have to believe that your brother will pay handsomely to get you back." Louis shook his head. "I would hate to think that we would have to return you in pieces just to make a point."

"I would not mind," Nico said to the still room.

"Yes, well," Louis replied as he ran a hand through his greying and thinning hair. "That is your preference, Nico, but it is not what we are being paid to do."

Raoul's eyes narrowed at the older man's words. "Someone is paying you to do this?" he asked through clenched teeth.

"There is always money where the wealthy are concerned," Louis said with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. "And we must make sure that your brother understands we are deadly serious when it comes to his money for your life." The smile disappeared from his face. "I think Monsieur le Comte is going to need proof of our intentions." Louis turned his attention to Nico. "You know what to do."

Nico's eyes glittered dangerously. "I do," he breathed, "I do."

_Oh God_, Raoul thought as he listened to the soft sound of Nico's breathed reply and braced himself for additional pain, unwilling to let these man have the satisfaction of knowing they hurt him. Raoul could feel the edge of Nico's blade run along his scalp.

"Such pretty, pretty hair," Nico whispered in his ear in the brief second before his knife flashed and a hunk of Raoul's hair came away in Nico's hand. Nico waved his hand in Raoul's face. "Such pretty, pretty hair," he repeated a bit louder. The knife flashed again. And again. And again. And each time it flashed another hunk of Raoul's hair was separated from his scalp. There were moments when Nico "slipped" and bits of scalp came away with hair, blood droplets staining the golden-brown strands and running down Raoul's neck.

"Enough," Louis finally said as he noticed the uneven movement of chest muscles against chains. He eyed Nico as the knife paused against Raoul's scalp. "I said enough," he repeated and held out his hand. "Give me what have you taken."

Nico reached down to the floor and retrieved the pile of red-stained gold that sat there. He stood and handed Raoul's hair to Louis.

"Come along," Louis ordered as his fist closed around the hair, "we still have work to do."

Nico watched Louis leave the room and turned back to Raoul. He bent over, a single finger going to a blood trail on Raoul's head. Nico placed the bloody finger in his mouth and sucked at it before grinning at Raoul. "This is not over yet," he promised as he turned on his heel, exiting the room and leaving Raoul alone.

Raoul bent his head over, fighting down the impulse to retch. He could feel the cooling blood on his chest and the cooling blood on his head. Neither place truly hurt as the cuts inflicted by a skilled practioner were not deep but his scalp felt as if it were on fire as cool breezes blew across barren patches of bleeding skin. Raoul almost wished they had hurt him for he would know how to deal with the physical pain. The emotional pain of the humiliation Nico had put him through was far worse. Raoul felt ill and dehumanized and was glad he could not see what they had done to him. Then a different kind of pain took over as Raoul realized that Philippe and Christine would be receiving the parcel containing his bloody hair. It was an emotional sensation that flared outwards, encompassing the physical, creating a whole new world of pain for Raoul.

"Don't do this to them," he said softly, knowing it was useless even as the words passed his lips. "Please do not do this to them." His breath caught in his throat as he thought of the reason he had left his brother's home in the first place. It had been a stupid fight for a stupid reason. "Do not do this to her," he whispered. "Oh God, Christine," came the desperate prayer as Raoul succumbed to the pain and the dizziness and the darkness.

"Oh God, Christine," came anguished question, "what have you done?"

Christine looked at her reflection in the mirror and found there was no answer forthcoming. She closed her eyes and turned away, unwilling to look any further at the foolish child who stared back at her. Christine could feel a familiar fear gnaw at her soul, familiar but strange. There was a desperation in this fear that multiplied and heightened the intensity of the emotion until it was all that Christine could sense, until it was everything that she was. Even in her darkest moments, Christine had never felt such fear and she longed to crawl out of her skin to escape it. Trembling hands massaged her arms as if Christine were trying to rub away the fear. A wave of nausea began to bubble in her stomach and Christine placed a single hand to her mouth.

"Not now," she pleaded. "Not now."

The sound of carriage wheels drew Christine's attention away from the sick feeling that seemed to be her nearly constant companion. She quickly crossed the front parlor, drawing back the draperies to see the back end of a carriage that was moving down the lane. Christine let the draperies fall back into place and nearly ran from the parlor, out into the hallway and down to Philippe's study. She did not even pause to knock but burst through the door, one hand refusing to let go of the knob, using it to steady a body that longed to collapse into a weeping pile of expensive satin.

"Philippe?" she asked, hoping and dreading the answer.

Philippe stood behind his desk, his head bowed, hands splayed across the blotter. He had raised his head as Christine burst into the room, giving her a shake of his head.

Christine stared at her husband's brother and knew the dark circles under his eyes and his ghostly pallor were reflected in her own. She could not stop the sob that escaped her lips. Christine held up a hand to stop Philippe before he could cross to her side. "Please do not," Christine said.

Philippe was confused. "Why not?"

"Because," Christine replied, her voice breaking as she turned her head away.

"Christine, please," Philippe tried. "I cannot face this alone."

"How could you possibly want to face it with me?" Christine's whispered reply carried across the still room.

"We both love him," Philippe's brow was furrowed in confusion, "and we both want him back. I cannot carry this burden and fear alone; it will be easier to share it with someone who understands."

Christine turned her head to look at Philippe. "You do not understand!" she began softly, her voice gradually increasing in pitch and volume. "This is my fault! Raoul and I were arguing and he left! He ran away from me because I could not tell him why I was pushing him away! And I pushed him right into the arms of the men who took him away from us!" Christine was now shouting. "I am responsible! This is my fault!" She finally allowed her knees to crumple and she sank to the floor, her hands covering her face as she sobbed hysterically. Christine felt a pair of gentle hands touch her shoulders and she tried to pull away only to find the light grip of those hands tightening, lifting her to her feet, pulling her to a strong shoulder where she buried her head, a pair of sturdy arms holding her close. Christine sobbed for a few moments into Philippe's shoulder, her breathing finally evening out, her shaking body going still.

"Is that easier?" Philippe wondered.

Christine nodded, feeling Philippe's arms draw away from her and she raised her head to him. "I am so sorry," she said, her breath catching between each word. "I never meant for this to happen."

Philippe smiled sadly at her, his hands capturing hers. "Come with me," he told Christine as he led her to a small sofa that rested against the wall behind the study door. They sat down, Philippe still holding to her hands. "There is something you need to hear," he began. "Something the local police inspector told me mere moments ago."

Christine studied the blue eyes staring at her, feeling her heart break as she saw her husband's concerned gaze in his brother's. "What is it?" she wondered, her breath still catching with each word as Christine struggled to keep her sobs under control.

"The gendarmes searched that wooded trail that Raoul," Philippe shook his head before he continued, "loved to ride along. They found a camp in the woods that had obviously been there for some time." Philippe briefly closed his eyes in pain. "They were waiting for him, Christine. Do you understand? They were waiting for him and they just happened to take him the day that you and he fought." Philippe laid a hand on Christine's arm; the gesture reminiscent of touches Raoul had placed the same arm. "You had nothing to do with this. The disagreement between the two of you is just a sad coincidence."

"But Raoul is gone!" Christine said. "And he is never going to forgive me!" She was so close to slipping over an emotional edge and into the whirlpool of hysterics again.

"He will be back!" Philippe was insistent. "And he will forgive you. If I know nothing else, I know that my brother loves you. Every couple has disagreements and it has pained me to see you and my brother in the midst of one. Yet I know that once Raoul is back with us, he will want to be in your arms and everything that has come before will be forgotten." Philippe managed another sad smile. "By you both."

"Are you sure?" Christine asked him, her eyes desperately seeking the truth in Philippe's face.

What Philippe might or might not have said was interrupted by a knock on the open study door. Philippe and Christine both turned their attention toward the sound, the hopeful look on both faces disappearing as they saw Arthur standing in the open doorway.

"Yes?" Philippe asked.

"I do not wish to interrupt," Arthur began and withdrew a hand from behind his back. It held an envelope. "I thought you would wish to see this. It was found tacked to one of the back portico columns." Arthur kept an even gaze and an even tone of voice. "It has the same writing as the envelope from yesterday."

Philippe was on his feet in an instant, at Arthur's side in the next. He held out a shaking hand, feeling Arthur grip his hand as the envelope was passed. Philippe saw Arthur flick his eyes to the envelope and back to his face. Philippe cautiously lowered his eyes and drew in a sharp breath as he noted a small brown stain on the back of the envelope.

"The desk?" Arthur suggested softly, watching as Philippe nodded, following him to the desk. Arthur managed to give what he hoped was a reassuring smile to the woman who had slowly risen to her feet, a hand going to her throat.

"Philippe?" Christine wondered.

Philippe had opened the envelope, looking inside, carefully pulling out a letter. He placed the envelope down on his desk, fighting back the sick feeling that was growing in his stomach. Philippe read the letter he held. "They assure me that Raoul is still alive."

"Thank God," Christine whispered.

"And they will tell us how much money and where to deliver it with the next letter," Philippe finished, re-folding the letter and placing it next to the envelope.

There was a long moment of silence as Christine watched the two men across the room from her exchange glances, unwilling to meet her eyes. "What is wrong?" she asked. "What is it?" Her eyes flicked to the envelope under Philippe's hand. "What are you not telling me?" the question came as Christine crossed the room to stand at the edge of the desk.

"Christine, do not," Arthur tried.

"Oh God," Christine said, feeling the panic and hysteria beginning to overwhelm her again. "What have they done to my husband?" She turned her gaze to Philippe. "What have they done to Raoul? Philippe, tell me!"

Philippe and Arthur exchanged a final glance before Philippe finally raised his eyes to his brother's wife. "There is something that came in the envelope." He shook his head. "They sent it as a warning and to show that they mean for us to follow their every order."

Christine wondered where the heat of an early summer afternoon had gone as a cold chill crept up her spine. "What is it?" Her gaze traveled to the envelope once again, her head cocking to the side as she studied it. "Is that ... is that mark ... is it blood?"

Philippe swallowed hard. "Christine."

"Is it?" she interrupted him, her voice sounding hollow and distant to her ears. Christine watched Arthur come around to her side of the desk to place a steadying arm about her waist. She raised her head to him and saw him nod at Philippe.

"It is blood, Christine," Philippe told her as he picked up the envelope, reaching inside and drawing out some familiar golden brown strands of hair.

Christine's hands flew to her mouth but were unable to completely muffle her scream.


	18. Chapter 18

_**Author's Note: **I am sorry about how long it has taken to update and I have a simple explanation. I live in Naples, Florida and we recently had company in the form of a lady named Wilma who had attitude issues. But now that she is gone life is slowly returning to normal. Thank you for your patience!_

**Chapter Summary:** Meg and Val share a conversation about their mothers and Erik and Tallis. Antoinette and Erik share a conversation about Meg, Christine and Tallis.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Meg smiled brightly at the reflection smiling back at her from the hall mirror. It was a lovely little face framed by loose golden blonde hair and Meg flipped some stray locks over her shoulders. China blue eyes twinkled back at her, an echo of the smile that graced soft pink lips. Meg took a look down, twitching her casual pink morning dress into place. A thin hand smoothed pink linen across the taught abdomen and hips of the former dancer, bright flashes of light from a diamond wedding set dancing in the morning sun. Meg stepped back and gave herself a last critical look and nodded at what she could see. Pleased with herself, Meg turned from the mirror to walk down the hall of her Parisian town home, stopping in an open doorway to admire the view before her.

Valery, Baron de Castelot-Barbezac, sat at the writing desk in the front parlor, the morning sun gleaming off dark brown hair that had recently seen its first hints of grey. He was dressed in a suit and tie and Meg knew that meant he would be spending part of the day conducting the business of running his estates and managing their money. She smiled softly as Val reached up to tug at his ear, an endearing trait that meant he was making a decision. This first year of marriage had taught Meg much about the pleasant, even-tempered man she had married and she had come to love the habits and little idiosyncracies that Val had manifested. She remained quiet as she watched Val pick up a pen, his elegant hand moving easily as he signed his name to the paper in front of him, moving it to the side and raising his head, a broad smile crossing his face.

Meg moved into the room toward the open arms that beckoned to her. She heard the scrape of chair legs along the wood floor as Val moved away from the desk, turning the chair to the side. Meg smiled as she watched Val pat his lap and she settled easily into it, feeling his arms go around her, his lips seeking hers. Meg sighed as she melted into the kiss, feeling the tip of Val's tongue play along her lower lip.

"Sir!" Meg exclaimed as she drew back, a look of shock upon her face.

"Madame?" Val replied, struggling to maintain a look of innocence.

"You are very daring!" Meg told him.

"And you are very beautiful," Val told her, a hand moving easily to rest against the small of her back.

Meg moved her hands to cup her husband's face and she planted a firm kiss against his lips before drawing back, her laughter ringing off the walls. "We are very unfashionable!"

"And I would have it no other way," Val told her, his dark eyes glowing. "I would rather flirt with my saucy little ballet rat than the finest woman in all of France."

Only from her husband and her mother could the term "ballet rat" sound so loving. Meg stuck out her bottom lip. "Only France?"

"The world, my love," Val corrected himself. "The world." He patted her bottom and Meg stood, moving to the other side of the desk. Val leaned back in his chair, waiting until Meg had taken a seat. "What do you plan to do this day?"

Meg crossed her arms on the edge of the desk, leaning slightly forward, looking at the morning's mail scattered across the blotter. "I had been hoping there would have been a letter or a telegram from Christine or Raoul."

"Nothing as of yet," Val replied and watched as Meg's face fell a little. "Take heart, my dear," he told her. "They are in the bosom of their family and in a lovely part of the country. I am sure they are enjoying themselves far too much to be bothered with saying such to the friends they have left behind."

"Do you really believe so?" Meg frowned slightly.

"I do."

"Oh, I hope so!" Meg studied her husband's open, honest face. "I want to believe that whatever was troubling them before they left has been settled. I want to believe they are so busy being happy again that they have completely forgotten about us."

Val gave his wife a gentle smile. "You hold to your beliefs," he told Meg. "A loving spirit such as yours can surely bend the universe to its will."

"Val," Meg told him with a shake of her head.

There was a moment of silence as each studied the face on the other side of the desk, seeing in the countenance before them the million and one reasons why they had fallen in love. It was Meg who finally broke the stare, the emotional intensity of it turning her cheeks a bright pink.

"August is coming soon, my dear, and it will be hot and miserable here in Paris." Val cleared his throat. "I was wondering if you would like to go and spend some time at our country home." Val retrieved his discarded pen and twirled it between his fingers. "We could leave in mid-July."

Meg wrinkled her little nose at her husband's suggestion. "Weeks in the country with the dowager Baroness watching our every move?" Meg shuddered. "I would rather attend a funeral."

"Meg," Val warned.

"I did not truly mean it about the funeral!" Meg insisted. "Although, I did mean it about your mother; she still does not like me." Meg grew serious. "She still thinks you married too far below your station. She criticizes my clothing, my hair, my manners. I can see her adding the cost of everything I own in her head and wondering how I have managed to open your purse." Meg let out a long sigh. "Your mother only thinks I married you for your money." There was no answer from her husband and Meg fixed him with a curious look. "We could always have a child and I am sure that would stop her criticisms." Meg chewed thoughtfully on a fingertip. "It would also mean I would never have a moment's peace raising my child."

Val reached a long arm across the desk and pulled his wife's fingertip from her mouth; he squeezed the hand he held. "We agreed that we would wait for two years before having a child so that we could enjoy ourselves and you could settle into your new role as a Baroness."

"I know," Meg replied softly.

"And my mother will make our lives miserable when our first child is born," Val had to agree. "I would rather delay that moment for some time longer, if you please." He held up a finger as Meg opened her mouth. "But I do want to take you to the country for a few weeks and I have the perfect idea to offset the irritation my mother can cause." A mischievous little gleam began to grow in Val's eyes. "I propose we take your mother to the country with us, as well."

"Val! That is so wicked of you!"" Meg exclaimed, a hand going to her mouth. She was unable to stifle the giggles that broke through. "It is a wonderful idea!"

"Yes, well," Val replied. "I do know my mother and the only person who will ever be able to hold their own against her is your mother. As much as you fear my mother, I fear yours more." He shook his head as Meg's mouth fell open. "Perhaps fear is not the correct word." He thought for a moment. "I respect your mother for she is a person who commands respect. It is in her carriage, her words, the way she conducts herself. She is a lady in every sense of the word." Val once again reached across the desk for his wife's hand. "And you are her daughter, my love; you are a lady. You are beautiful and gracious and elegant. You are tender and sweet and when you move it is like watching an angel walk."

"Mmmm," Meg hummed, her brow wrinkling. "Ooh, I so dislike it when you do that." She smiled at him. "I surrender; you win. I will go to the country with you and face the mother lion in her den." The smile disappeared. "As long as my mother can come, as well."

"As you wish," Val agreed. "I think we may wish to take Mademoiselle Ordogne, as well, for I think her parents would be glad of a visit from their daughter after these many months."

The suggestion brightened Meg considerably and she clapped her hands together. "That is so clever of you, Val! I know from talking with Mother that Tallis does miss her family. A trip to see them will be so wonderful for her!" Meg grew pensive.

"What is wrong?" Val worried.

Meg worried her bottom lip between her teeth. "If you and I and Mother and Tallis are in the country, who will that leave for Erik to visit? You know he depends greatly upon Mother." Meg shook her head. "He still lives in fear and with fear. What will he do without Mother for the time we are away?" Meg stopped chewing on her lip, her voice lowering to share a secret. "And I have a feeling he is growing quite fond of Tallis." She was a bit surprised by the look on her husband's face. "Val! Surely you do not disapprove?"

"Meg," Val began, his hands folding on the desk in front of him, "I respect the man's talents. I respect him because your mother is deeply fond of him, as are you. I may even respect him a small bit for himself but that does not mean I can forget who he was or what he has done. Your Erik strikes me as a man who can still be dangerous and Tallis is my responsibility. I promised to keep her safe when her parents agreed to let her go to your mother. My family has always held their responsibilities to their retainers in high regard. I cannot and will not let down generations of my ancestors simply because you wish to play matchmaker."

"Now you are just being cruel," Meg was growing angry. "You pretend to like him and you pretend to not see what is happening before your eyes." Meg took her arms off the desk and crossed them over her chest. "You are just like your mother."

"And you are just like yours," Val shot back.

"What does that mean?"

"It means you cannot save every stray soul under God's heaven just because you wish it!"

"I will at least try," Meg warned her husband, "because that is what women do!" She rose to her feet. "We do not create hate and cruelty and evil and war. We create the love and compassion that keeps society from falling victim to the foolishness of men." Meg watched as Val also rose to his feet. "Tallis will love who her heart chooses and you above all others should know that one cannot help with whom they fall in love." Meg leaned across the desk toward her husband. "Or am I just a passing fancy?"

Val stared at his wife for a long moment before grabbing her face and kissing her quite soundly. "I do so dislike it when you are correct," he whispered as he drew back. He sighed and resumed his seat, looking up at the woman still standing over him. "I do harbor a small affection for your Erik but that does not mean I view him with my eyes closed." Val spread his hands open. "I wish I could be more like you, my dear; I wish it with all my heart but I cannot. I am a cautious man by nature and it will take more than a few good works for me to fully trust your Erik."

Meg raised an eyebrow. "A few good works?"

Val realized what he had said and tried to cover his mistake. "He has been good to your mother and to you. And he has been very kind to Tallis." Val relented. "If you think it would be beneficial to his well-being, please invite him to join us in the country. I am sure there is an empty cottage on the estate where he can stay during our time there."

Meg leaned over and kissed her husband on his forehead. "Thank you," she said softly. "I shall talk to Maman about it and have her make the suggestion to Erik." She gave her husband a brilliant smile. "I love you."

Val laid a hand over the one Meg rested on the desk. "And I love you."

Meg straightened. "I shall change and go to visit my mother."

"Give her my regards," Val said as his wife turned on her heel and disappeared out the door. "I hope you are correct and this turns out well," he said to the empty doorway.

The object that had precipitated the disagreement between husband and wife was at the moment seated at the piano in Madame Giry's home, a light, breezy melody being coaxed from keys and wire. Long, elegant fingers lightly danced back and forth, their easy flow but the outward extension of the composer's vision. The tune they wove moved from a soft lullaby picking up speed to a happy child's tune. The child grew to a joyous teen, the melody picking up the whirling beat of a spinning ballerina. The whirling dancer then slowed, the notes growing richer and deeper as romance entered the picture, maturing the teen into a woman in the first blush of love. The music continued to slow, fingers caressing the ebony and ivory keys with more love than mere notes could ever hope to convey. Finally - with a flourish comprised of soft romantic joy - the music came to an end, the final notes wafting into the room only to fade away into the plastered walls, leaving behind a potent silence.

When no sound of approval or disapproval came in response to his music, Erik turned around to look at the woman sitting behind him. He studied Antoinette in silence for a moment, a worried look growing on his face. She sat very still, her hands folded in her lap. Her eyes were closed and her countenance betrayed no inkling of what she thought of his composition - the composition he had written for her daughter at the request of her son-in-law. "Well?" Erik finally ventured in a hesitant tone. There was no answer. "Oh, do say something!" Erik sighed in exasperation.

Very slowly, Antoinette opened her eyes, as a tiny smile began to form on her lips, crinkling the corners of her eyes. "I can hear my daughter in every note," Antoinette began quietly, a faraway look on her face. "I can hear a small baby being bounced on her father's knees." Antoinette sighed and swallowed down the tears. "I can hear my little girl growing into a young woman even as she grew into a dancer." She fixed Erik with a look of great fondness and warmth. "And I can hear the love she feels for her husband." Antoinette rose to her feet and crossed the room to lay a hand on Erik's shoulder. She looked down into his face and watched the fear and uncertainty disappear in the light of her pleasure. "It is a lovely thing that Val asked you to do and a wondrous thing you have accomplished. Val shall be pleased and Meg will be overjoyed." She gave Erik a wide smile. "And I am delighted." The smile disappeared. "But not surprised."

The warm glow caused by Antoinette's praise began to fade at her final words and Erik looked worried. "I do not understand."

Antoinette shook her head, a small laugh escaping her lips. "I am not surprised because I always knew you were capable of such beauty." She sighed. "There is such capacity within you for greatness in anything to which you lay your hand. I have seen such over these many years. That is why I am not surprised." Antoinette smiled again. "It is also quite pleasant for a mother to think that her daughter may be a muse for a such a talent."

Erik could feel the glow of pride begin to swell again as Antoinette spoke but he grew sheepish as she finished. "Ah," he said and would say no more.

"It was not just my daughter," Antoinette began, "was it?" The former ballet mistress had had many years in which to study the human spirit in all its incarnations and it had given her a wisdom deeper than most. She could hear, in the grace notes of the music, a voice that did not belong to her daughter. It was a simple voice with a simple grace and Antoinette recognized it for what it was, for who it was.

Erik lowered his eyes, unable to look his friend in the face. "No," he replied and kept his eyes focused on the bench between his knees. "I found myself unable to write, unable to compose without thinking of ..." He paused for a moment. "Without thinking of Christine," he admitted aloud to Antoinette and to himself. "I grew angry with myself and fled that damn garret. I thought to seek you out, to find the solace you have always brought forth from my darkness. I made it as far as the woods at the back of your property when I saw you both in the garden." Erik knew he had no need to define whom he had seen with Antoinette. "You were picking flowers and she was working in the garden." Erik's brows knitted into a slight frown. "It was so normal in one moment and a scene from a fairy story in the very next; it was a waking dream for me. It was a vision I had often had - a garden with Christine laughing and brighter than any flower could ever hope to be." He finally raised his head, the pain evident in his eyes. "Yet there was no longer a Christine and my dream garden was no longer a dream. It was real and she was real and in that instant I knew that I could never drag her into my darkness." Erik shook his head. "Yet I could not chase her from my mind. I needed to give voice to the beauty I saw with my eyes." He laid a hand over his heart. "And with my heart. That sight of her in the garden gave me the smallest inkling of what it was that Val saw in Meg." Erik sighed. "She became my voice."

Antoinette motioned to Erik and he slid over so that she could join him on the piano bench. "Why do you not tell her these things?"

"Because," Erik began as he took Antoinette's hand, "the last time a young woman became my voice, it nearly drove me mad. I cannot and will not do such a thing to Tallis for she deserves better than that from me." His voice fell. "She deserves better than me."

"Have you ever thought to ask Tallis what she wants?" Antoinette wondered.

"I shall ask her no such thing," Erik replied, his tone of voice darkening.

"She is not Christine," Antoinette reminded him.

"As I am all too aware."

Antoinette, too, could be stern. "You mistake my meaning," she said and caught Erik's eye as he raised his head at the sound of her voice.

"Enlighten me," Erik told her. "Explain me to myself for obviously I do not understand my own mind."

"It is not your mind with which I am concerned," Antoinette replied, a half-smile on her face.

"That damned heart," Erik muttered.

"That damned heart," Antoinette agreed. "That damned heart that now holds a fondness for a young woman other than Christine." She nodded. "And that is as it should be for Christine could never be for you what Tallis could be."

"What is that?" Erik wondered.

"An equal."

Erik was stunned. "A what? An equal?" He blurted out. His voice was raised in surprise and his words were carried beyond the open windows of Antoinette's room.

They were carried to the garden just outside the room and into the ears of a young woman who had been enchanted by a spell woven by a music she could not understand but which captivated her heart. She had not meant to listen after the music had ended but found her feet were now rooted to the spot where she stood. She had rejoiced to know she had been in the music but that quickly fled at the cruel words and tone that followed. Even as her joy fled, her feet, too, had fled, carrying her to the back of the garden shed where none could see or hear her. She had fallen to her knees, burying her face in her hands as the tears came. She knelt there, sobbing, and did not hear the words that followed the ones that had chased her to this place.

"Do not be so obtuse!" Antoinette warned Erik.

Erik withdrew his hand, crossing his arms over his chest. He would not look at Antoinette and resembled nothing more than a little boy being scolded by his maman.

Antoinette folded her hands in her lap. "You love passionately. She loves passionately. You are stubborn. She is stubborn. You are intelligent in the ways of books. She is intelligent in the ways of the world. You could teach her and she could teach you. She will never let you wallow in your darkness but will understand that there are times when you need to be there. She will applaud your talent and laugh at your folly." Antoinette drew a deep breath. "And Tallis can be something to you that Christine could never be." Antoinette waited until Erik had turned his head to look at her. "She can be yours and yours alone. She has never loved anyone before - this I know - and she will love you openly and honestly and in spite of your faults." Antoinette took back one of Erik's hands. "Would you truly let such a miracle slip through your hands?"

"I do not think it matters," Erik said softly, "for if it is as you describe, then I am not worthy of such a miracle." He shook his head sadly. "I have done nothing in my life to deserve such a gift."

"Miracles," Antoinette told him, "are not meant to be deserved but are meant to be received in supplication and with gracious thanks." Before Antoinette could get a reply there came a gentle knock at the door. "Come," she called out. The door opened and Tallis walked into the room, her cheeks and eyes a bit red, a handkerchief rubbing at the end of her nose. "Are you quite all right, my dear?" Antoinette wondered.

"It is the onions for the soup," Tallis lied. "I may have done too many." She managed to give Erik a wan smile as she caught him looking at her. "Will be you be staying for lunch?"

Erik turned to look at Antoinette. "If I may?"

Antoinette inclined her head. "You are always welcome at my table." She turned her attention back to Tallis. "Did you hear any of the music while you were in the kitchen?" Antoinette watched the blush creep up the young woman's cheeks and knew that she had heard far more than just the music.

"I heard some of it," Tallis was willing to admit. "It was very beautiful."

"It is a gift from the Baron to Meg," Erik told her. "It is for their wedding anniversary."

"The Baroness is very lucky to have found someone to love her so much," Tallis replied "and to have a friend who can write such beautiful music."

"The word is compose," Erik corrected her, "not write. Compose."

His attitude bolstered Tallis' flagging spirits. "And luncheon shall be ready in twenty minutes." She turned to Antoinette. "Madame," Tallis said as she nodded her head and left through the door, closing it behind her.

There was a moment of silence before Antoinette's amused laughter echoed about the room.

"I do not see what you find so amusing," Erik grumped.

Antoinette put a hand to her lips as she composed herself. "Did I say she was your equal? I was sadly mistaken." She turned to Erik, still struggling to keep her laughter under control. "Tallis is most definitely not your equal; she is your better!"

_But never my better half,_ Erik thought sadly.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter Summary:** Another warning needs to be sent to Raoul's family. And we get a further glimpse of Nico's madness.

**_WARNING: Here we go again, folks. This is another of those "icky" torture chapters and I think it is worse than the last one. If you really cannot stomach this kind of thing, I suggest you turn away now! Consider yourselves warned!_**

Raoul looked toward the ceiling, his eyes narrowing as they took in the pulley system that had kept him tethered to the cold room for the last two days. His brain knew it was futile but hope yet lived in every heartbeat so Raoul drew a deep breath, tightened arm muscles and yanked down as hard as he could; it only afforded additional pain to shoulders and wrists. A frustrated moan escaped as Raoul looked down at the manacles that bound his wrists to the overhead pulley and to each other. He shook his head as he breathed deeply through his nose, feeling the heavy iron rub into wrists already raw and painful from previous useless attempts at freedom. Anger and desperation warred within him, each vying for control of an army of mixed emotions that raged throughout Raoul's heart, mind and soul, manifesting themselves in the pacing that Raoul resumed.

"At least they let me have this much," Raoul muttered to himself as he walked back and forth in the small arc that the length of chain provided him. He kept his voice low in the event there was anyone listening beyond the closed door of his prison. He had no wish to further provoke the men just beyond that door; Raoul had learned his lessons well.

He had tried calling for help the first night when his senses had returned. He had awakened to the pounding ache in a head whose scalp itched and burned from multiple knife cuts. He had also remembered the flick of the knife that had sliced across his chest and Raoul had looked down to see the front of his shirt stained with his own blood. It was then that he remembered the package that was being sent to his wife and brother. Raoul had closed in his eyes in pain that was more mental than physical. He had struggled through that pain to find some faint flicker of reason. He had found that small flicker; it had urged Raoul to listen to the darkened world about him. There had been no sound from the other room and Raoul had tried calling out for help; it would be the only time he would make that mistake. Raoul's attempt to reach out for help had brought forth from the other room a demon disguised as human being carrying a lantern and more chains. The demon had left his knife behind, choosing instead to kick out at ribs, knocking the wind from Raoul in a huge cry of pain and surprise. Raoul had stopped calling for help after that.

Now he just paced back and forth when the agitation and worry became too much. When his legs would tire, Raoul would sit on the cold, hard floor, his head in his hands, despair washing him away like a biblical flood. Once before he had been ready to die in the darkness and once more he was ready for there was an empty voice that reached through the despair and the darkness seeming to say he would never again see anything beyond these four walls. It was not the end that caused Raoul to despair but the journey he would need to take. He had seen the madness in Nico's eyes when that knife had carved into his head and chest and Raoul knew that there would be more pain. He was only human and Raoul did not wish to spend whatever time he had left in pain, fulfilling Nico's strange urges. Raoul knew he wished in vain but it was far better to think upon his own fate - no matter the fears and the worries - then to think upon the ones he loved for such thoughts frightened Raoul, making him physically ill.

Raoul found he could not even begin to imagine the pain and the fear and the torment his family must have been experiencing. He wondered about Charlotte and Desiree, his sisters, one in Austria, one in Italy and prayed that Philippe had not sent them word; they had their own families to fret over. He thought of Henri, hoping against hope that his cousin would be of some help and comfort to Philippe and Christine. Raoul nearly laughed at the thought for Henri could barely help himself and would not be able to find his way from the center of his self-centered world to aid anyone else. Raoul continued to think about other loved ones, other friends, other acquaintances - anyone and anything other than the two people he loved most in the world, the two people whose images caused him more pain that Nico could ever hope to inflict.

Philippe and Christine - the two people in the world who were Raoul's world. The two people upon whom the sun rose and set for Raoul. The two people he loved more than his own life. Philippe who had helped to form his soul and Christine who had formed his heart. Raoul could feel frustrated, worried tears gather at the corners of his eyes and fingers of bound hands stretched, brushing them away; he could not and would not let the men who held him see any weakness. Yet thoughts of Philippe and Christine would not be denied, always finding their way to the forefront of his mind, pushing their way past all other thoughts, claiming a supremacy that took a heavy toll upon Raoul's already strained emotions.

Raoul hoped that Philippe would remember their pledge to each other and not pay a centime for a return that he was certain would not happen. He had always looked up to, admired and trusted the brother who had been old enough to be his father. A kind word had rarely been received from the man who had actually sired him but Philippe had always been there with words of encouragement. Philippe had been the one who had taken time from his busy life to watch over Raoul's schoolwork, to tell the small boy stories, to listen to the confusion of the adolescent, to encourage the young man finally coming in to his own. Philippe had been the idealized father, the adored older brother, Raoul's guide and inspiration. He had been the one who had laughingly given way to Raoul's impassioned desire for a young girl with dark hair.

"Christine," Raoul whispered into the hands that covered his face. Raoul took the hands from his face, staring into open palms, seeing only the emptiness. A blank emptiness that he knew stretched from his heart to the heart that caused his own to beat. Another voice reached through his despair, a quieter voice, a softer voice and Raoul clasped empty hands together and bowed his head over them.

"Dear God, I do not even know where to start," Raoul began and paused for a moment, trying to still his racing emotions. "I do not even know if you remember that I am here." He sighed before continuing. "But I know you remember Christine. I love her. I will always love her, please let her remember that. Do not let her remember my harsh words. I am sorry for them and I pray I could take them back but I cannot. Please grant her Your strength and peace. I cannot endure the thought of her in any further pain for I have caused her enough by my actions." Raoul paused again, feeling his breath catch in his throat. "And if I do not make it from this place alive, please let Christine find her way back to another who loves her." The mere thought of the woman he loved in the arms of that man created a void in Raoul that nothing would ever be able to fill and he was still and silent as his mind tried to comprehend the thought. "He will love her," he finally admitted quietly, "and she needs to be loved." Raoul swallowed down the image of Christine melting into the arms of the Phantom. "Please let her be loved."

The thought of his wife, smiling and exuberant during the day, still and humming in his arms at night, nearly drove Raoul over the edge. All he wanted to do was take her in his arms, whisper words of apology against her dark curls, kiss the softness of her lips and love her for the rest of their lives. He had told Christine once that she was safe with him but she did realize that she was his safe harbor. That her arms, her friendship, her love was his refuge from the cares of the world. Now Raoul prayed that Christine knew that, that she would always know that and hold to it even as he held to it, clung to it, in this turbulence into which he had been tossed.

"Please, God," Raoul whispered again.

"Praying," a voice said from behind him, "how touching."

Raoul lifted his head but refused to turn it or get to his feet.

"Nothing to say?" the voice asked.

Raoul refused to answer.

"Still willful, I see," the voice continued. "I would have thought that such arrogance would have been taken right out of the aristocracy after so many lost their heads during the Revolution."

Raoul clenched his teeth together. He could feel a body closing in behind him.

"Or, perhaps, it takes a Phantom to strike fear into your heart, Monsieur," the voice said with an unpleasant chuckle.

"Damn you," Raoul replied softly.

The body behind him came around and Raoul was looking into the eyes of Louis. "There are things that can rile your temper," Louis smirked at him.

"Looks like your information was right, after all," another voice from the darkness said.

"Shut up, Edouard," Louis snapped.

"Who is telling you these things?" Raoul narrowed his eyes. "Who is paying you to do this?"

Louis smirked at his captive. "Would you not like to know?" There was no answer to his question and Louis just stared down at the man glaring at him. "I am not going to tell you so I suggest you stop asking." He nudged the tip of his boot at Raoul's foot. "Get to your feet."

"Why?" Raoul asked, knowing he would regret the question but unable to stop the word from coming out.

"Francois," Louis said.

Raoul could hear the sound of the chains before they pulled on the manacles about his wrists. He grimaced at the pain such actions caused but made no sound.

"Because," Louis continued, "if you do not get to your feet, I shall have Francois drag you to them. It is as simple as that."

Raoul kept his eyes locked with those of his captor as he slowly got to his feet. "I am on my feet," Raoul said in an even tone of voice, "as you commanded."

"Such defiance," Louis tsk'd at him. "We shall just have to do something about that." He turned his attention to the dark room behind Raoul. "Edouard, Francois," he ordered. Louis waited until the two men were on either side of Raoul. "You know what to do."

The two men fell to their knees and Raoul could feel each of them grab onto his ankles, pulling his feet slightly apart, preventing any movement from the spot where he stood. Raoul watched as Louis pulled the gun from his waistband.

"Do not think of trying anything foolish," Louis warned. "One thought, one move," he moved next to Raoul and placed the barrel of the gun over Raoul's heart, "one little twitch and you will be watching your family from heaven," Louis warned, staring into bright blue eyes that bore deep into his soul. "I am not lying," he told Raoul, punctuating his words by pressing the gun barrel into Raoul's chest.

Raoul winced as hard metal edges dug into already bruised flesh. The threat posed by the gun was enough to still any foolish thoughts that might have been struggling through the apprehension in Raoul's mind. He breathed heavily through his nose, gauging the immediate threat against the unknown threat that hovered in the air, eternal hope winning out. "Where am I to go and what am I to do?"

"Wise man," Louis said with a nod of his head before moving behind Raoul.

Raoul stood still, his apprehension growing as the chains began to move through the pulley, stretching his arms taut above his head. He tried to keep his breathing even and his outward demeanor calm as Louis once again came back into view, the gun in his hand once again leveling itself at the center of Raoul's chest.

"We are going to send your brother a letter telling him how much must be paid for your return," Louis began. "We just need to give him a reminder of what is at stake." His voice lowered. "Nico."

Raoul felt a something cold begin to creep along his spin as Nico emerged from the shadows. "You do not need to do this," Raoul tried softly, his eyes going to that damn knife that was so lovingly held between Nico's fingers.

"Not need to, no," Nico said as he thought about Raoul's words, his head nodding. "Want to, yes." He approached Raoul, never meeting his eyes. Nico moved slowly around Raoul. "You must have such a fine family." Never touching him. "Brothers and sisters, perhaps." Never looking at him. "Many relatives in many places." He moved around Raoul in a circle.

Raoul could feel his heart beat faster and faster with every movement, every word, never knowing what Nico was thinking beneath the soft words he uttered. "Philippe will follow your instructions." Raoul hoped he sounded sincere. "Just tell him what you want!" Raoul watched in worry and apprehension as Nico finally stopped in front of him, raising his eyes to meet Raoul's own.

There was a quiet, tense moment as Nico studied the man in front of him, his head moving from side to side, his lips alternately smiling and frowning. Nico kept his hands still; fingers wrapped the blade and handle of his knife. "A beautiful wife, who must be missing you." He leaned forward slightly, his eyes studying the vein that visibly throbbed in Raoul's temple. "Oh so much," Nico whispered so that only Raoul could hear, a satisfied smile crossing his lips as he saw the muscles of Raoul's jaw tighten. Nico drew back and resumed his movements. He continued to walk round and round Raoul, the carefully measured movements designed to heighten the anxiety, increase fear.

"Perhaps," Nico said evenly as he stopped, turning from Raoul to look at Louis, "there is no need for further warnings." Before Raoul could draw another breath, before hope had a chance to blossom, Nico whirled around, his knife lashing out across Raoul's abdomen, slicing through his shirt and into his skin. "Or perhaps there is a need to do this!" he hissed like a snake as Raoul cried out in pain and surprise. "Or this." the knife flashed upwards and then down again, tearing through Raoul's left shirt sleeve, leaving a bloody trail in its wake. "Or this," The knife flashed again leaving an identical blood trail along Raoul's right shirt sleeve.

After his initial outcry, Raoul had clenched his teeth together, trying not to bite through his tongue as he felt the fiery pain across his abdomen spread to first one arm and then the other. Raoul could not help the involuntary moans that escaped through closed lips so he had lowered his eyes denying Nico the pleasure of seeing the pain that was written there. Raoul could not see Louis leave through closed eyes nor could he see him when Louis returned to stand in the doorway, his hands holding a glowing iron. He did feel the bloody point of the knife poke at the pulse point that pounded in his neck.

"Do you think that is enough warning?" Nico wondered as he poked the knife at Raoul's jugular vein.

There was no response.

"I asked you a question!" Nico breathed into Raoul's ear, a skilled hand pushing the knife gently against the artery in Raoul's neck.

Raoul knew what the crazed man in front of him wanted to hear. "You will decide," he managed to find the words through the pain that wrapped him in a tight fist.

"That is right." The knife slid a bit as Nico withdrew it, leaving a tiny trail of red tears in its wake. "I will decide," Nico finished as he drew back.

Raoul still had his eyes closed and could not see Nico nod over his shoulder to Louis who slowly began approaching them. Raoul did feel Edouard and Francois tighten their grip on his ankles and he drew in a deep breath, bracing himself, trying to find courage beyond himself. His thoughts fled to the sheltering memories of Christine. Raoul found himself drawing the strength he needed from the memory of her courage in another darkened place. Whatever these men were about to do, Raoul would face it with his eyes open. "Do what you will," he began as he opened his eyes and stared at Nico, "and be done with it," Raoul finished angrily, his breath ragged and uneven.

"As you wish," Nico said with a smile as he stepped back.

It took but the space of a single heartbeat for Raoul to smell the heat behind him, giving him no time to truly prepare. A moment later he was crying out as the small, flat, branding iron burned through his shirt and into the skin of his shoulder. A moment after that, Raoul's head lolled against his chest, his body hanging limply from the chains that bound his wrists.

"Let him go," Louis ordered as he stepped back, moving toward the chains that ran through the pulley, watching as Edouard and Francois released Raoul's legs. Louis loosed the chains and Raoul's body slumped to the floor, unaware, unmoving. Something dark flew through the air. "Take them off," Louis said as Francois caught the key, bending over to remove the manacles from Raoul's wrists. Louis tossed something else through the air. "You know what to do with this," he said to Edouard who took off the burned, torn and bloody shirt that Raoul wore, replacing it with the tunic that had been tossed to him.

"He is not going to be moving for awhile," Edouard said as he handed the shirt to Louis.

Louis approached and looked down at the still figure on the floor. "Does not matter," he said as he held out his hand for the shirt. "Put that on him and chain him back to the pole. We cannot afford to make any mistakes at this point." He waited as Edouard slipped the tunic over Raoul's head before motioning to Nico. "Come with me," he said, trusting Nico to follow him. Louis heard the dragging of a body and the rattling of chains as Nico closed the door behind himself. He sat down at the rickety table usually reserved for card playing and wine drinking, folding Raoul's shirt, placing an envelope atop it before wrapping it in plain paper. "You did not go too far, did you?" Louis asked, watching as Nico sat, his shadow crossing the package in ominous foreboding.

"I am skilled." There was a hint of pride in Nico's voice. "I never go too far unless I am given permission." He chuckled; it was a disturbing sound even to a known associate. "But I am not the one who branded him as if he were a prize hog."

"I am just following _my_ orders," Louis replied as he pushed the completed package across the table toward Nico. He finally raised his eyes to look at the man across from him. "Can you deliver that to the Chagny estate without being seen?"

Nico reached the packet, picking it up and holding it close to his heart almost as if it were a well-loved child. "I have done so till now."

Louis felt a small chill run up his spine as Nico rocked the package in his arms. "I was serious when I told Francois and Edouard that we could afford no mistakes. Just deliver the package to the estate and leave. You must not be seen or caught."

Nico stopped his rocking movements and stood still. "I will never be seen or caught." His eyes were unblinking. "They would not dare."

Louis raised an eyebrow at Nico. "As you say," he replied, knowing enough not to aggravate Nico when he was riding the high caused by the shedding of blood.

"As I say," Nico's voice echoed, bouncing off the cold stone walls. He finally blinked, bringing Louis into focus. "I shall go now," he said. "The fine family will find our message with their breakfast."

Nico slipped from the room and into the dark night outside the cottage.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter Summary:** A shadow watches Christine from the woods surrounding Chagny. Christine and Philippe are both overcome by emotions nearly too great to handle as their friends struggle to keep both from complete breakdowns. And a ransom note is delivered with another "warning".

_(Author's Notes: Cala lilies stand for "majestic beauty". I found a reference to a ransom of 25 thousand pounds paid in the year 1881 that would be the equivalent of over 300 thousand dollars today. My meager math skills, therefore, figured that 100,000 francs would be today's equivalent of almost a million dollars. Forgive me if I am wrong.)_

CHAPTER TWENTY

He stood in the shadow of the trees lining the very edges of the great estate, a still and silent specter among long shadows created by a sun slowly beginning to peak over the mountains. The only hints of life betrayed were the slight movement of his chest, the glowing of cold eyes. His task accomplished hours ago, he had chosen to stay, to wait for a glimpse of the lives that moved beyond the cold walls and unblinking windows of the chateau. His heart beat evenly and slowly, the anticipation of the moment only calming him further, drawing him further and further into a strange world, a reality detached from reasoned thought. He wanted to see, to know that there was pain and loss for such was the sustenance that kept him alive, it was the air that filled his lungs, the blood that flowed through his veins, his manna from heaven. His nostrils flared and ears pricked at the slight sound that echoed across the green lawn; he would not have long to wait now.

She emerged from one of the many doors that lined the back portico, looking over her shoulder as she slowly crept into the outside world. She paused for a moment, staring into the dark interior of the chateau before carefully closing the door. She turned and moved toward the gardens, her slipper-shod feet making no sound and carrying her with the grace and ease of an angel. A passing breeze waved long dark hair about a pale face punctuated by eyes red and swollen from the shedding of tears. She raised a trembling hand to brush the undressed hair from her face before using the hand to draw a blue shawl more tightly about her shoulders. She did not even notice the dew that dampened the hem of the dress she had carelessly thrown over her head.

He waited as she walked towards his ghost, dark eyes distant, focused on something he could not see. He watched as she stopped by a row of slender white flowers. She bent over them, breathing in their scent, fingers reaching out to caress the delicate cup-like blooms as she straightened.

"Majestic beauty," he heard her whisper to the breaking dawn. "No roses for us, my love, lilies - strong, gentle lilies. My beautiful …"

He could feel his fingers curl in bizarre delight as her voice broke and one of her hands covered her lower abdomen.

"Raoul," her broken cry carried to his ears.

His breath grew shallow as he watched her begin to sway, knees finally giving way, dropping her to the ground. He watched as she doubled over, both hands going to her mouth, barely able to muffle the screams torn from a wounded soul. He felt the darkness inside him swell as he watched the shattering of the fragile beauty on her knees. He felt invincible as he listened to the agony that poured forth from her lips, breaking the peace of an early summer morning. He began to take a step closer, wanting to breathe in the emotions, to breathe in her, when he paused in mid-step, his eyes flicking to the portico.

"Christine!" a woman's voice called.

He snarled at the dark-haired older woman who was walking down the garden path before turning back to the woman on her knees. His snarl lengthened into an evil smile as he watched her raise her head, knowing he took with him a secret that was capable of cutting and hurting, causing more pain than any knife wound he would ever be able to inflict.

"Thank you," he whispered to the morning air, watching her eyes, large and frightened, scan the woods before he disappeared into the shadows.

"Christine!" Monique said again she reached the spot where Christine remained on her knees.

"Did you hear that?" Christine's voice held a note of panic.

"Hear what, my dear?" Monique asked, as she placed gentle hands on Christine's shoulders, urging her off the cool ground.

"That voice," Christine whispered, rigidly rooted on her knees. "It is there in my head, whispering, taunting." She looked up at Monique. "He will not let me go. Raoul was correct; he is going to haunt me until I am dead." Christine shook her head as she went to a place where no one could follow. "I should have let Raoul kill him in the cemetery. I should have let Raoul walk away from me. I should have told him. I should have told him and it would not have mattered if it all went wrong. He would have forgiven me. He always forgave me." She looked at Monique again. "Do you think he will forgive me if he is killed? I never meant for him to die. I saved him before; I can save him again. I know I can! Do you think I can go to him? He will listen to me. He has to listen to me!"

Monique moved her skirts and knelt next to Christine, cupping the younger woman's face in her hands. "Christine," she began softly, "you are not making any sense."

"I am, I am," Christine managed around the breaths that were coming faster and faster. "I have to save my husband. This is my fault and I have to make it right. I made it right before; I can do it again. He has to listen to me! I am his angel and he loves me. He said we could go. He let us go." The bodice of Christine's dress moved with the rapidity of storm-tossed waves, her eyes darting back and forth. "I will stay with him and then he has to let Raoul go and it will not matter what happens to me and Raoul will be safe and happy and …"

"Christine!" Monique's voice was insistent as she interrupted Christine's panicked ranting. "Stop!"

Christine finally focused her attention on the woman kneeling in front of her, gently holding her head.

"Please," Monique finished softly.

Christine stared unblinking at Monique for a long moment, the tears welling at the bottom of her eyes finally spilling over, trailing their way down her cheeks. Her chin trembled as her mouth opened and closed several times. "I want my husband back," she whispered pitifully before breaking into full-fledged sobs. Christine found herself drawn to Monique's shoulder.

"I know, I know," Monique whispered as one hand held to the back of Christine's head while the other gently rubbed between the young woman's shoulder blades. "We all want him back." She leaned her head against Christine's. "And we will get him back. Xavier and Arthur will do anything Philippe needs them to do." Monique drew back as Christine raised her head. "It is my job to do anything you need me to do."

Christine gave a watery sniffle. "Please tell me Raoul is going to be fine." Christine was so intent on studying Monique's face that she was not aware of the momentary pause from the older woman.

"I have to believe that and you have to believe that," Monique told her. "Raoul is counting on us to be strong for him."

Christine closed her eyes and nodded her head, not trusting her voice. She felt, rather then saw, Monique stand up, keeping hold of her hands. Christine allowed Monique to guide her to her feet and she stood silently for a moment, lost in a prayer that could not even begin to be formed into words.

"Better?" Monique asked.

"Perhaps," Christine admitted with a nod before opening her eyes. "Where is Philippe?"

"In his study with Xavier and Arthur," Monique told her. "Would you like me to take you to them?"

"Not just yet." Christine shook her head. "Would you walk with me? Please?"

Monique gave her a gentle smile. "Of course," she replied. "I will walk with you as long as you need and then we shall go to Philippe."

And as Monique walked a shaking Christine through gardens softly lit by the new morning, her husband let the drapes of the window he looked through fall back into place. Xavier turned from the now covered window to look at the study softly lit by gas lamps. His lips frowned slightly and he shook his head at the sight that greeted his eyes. Arthur sat in one of the two leather chairs in front of the ornate desk. The hands that were folded in his lap were anything but calm as fingers ran back and forth over each other. Arthur's eyes were fixed on the man seated opposite him, the man behind the desk with his head in his hands.

"Philippe," Xavier began softly.

"I am going to find these men and I will tear them apart myself," Philippe said softly, his head staying in his hands.

"Philippe," Arthur ventured.

"I will give them their damn money right down their miserable throats," Philippe continued, ignoring his friends. "And I am going to make certain it chokes the life right out of them."

Xavier took two steps towards his friends. "And what good will such an action accomplish?"

Philippe raised his head and Xavier was a bit shocked to see the cold fire burning in his friend's blue eyes. "It will make me feel immensely better," came the softly spoken reply.

Arthur cleared his throat, not quailing beneath the deadly gaze Philippe turned upon him. "We have to think about your bankers," he told Philippe. "You need to address a letter to them that will allow Xavier and me to have access to the accounts in Lyon."

Philippe studied Arthur for a moment before closing his eyes and planting his hands on the desk. He slowly rose to his feet, his chest heaving under the strain of controlling raging emotions. Philippe slowly opened his eyes and stood staring down at Arthur, no words passing his lips and without warning both of his arms swung out, flinging papers and inkwells and anything in their way from the desk to the floor. "And how am I to do that?" Philippe shouted. "Those bastards have deigned not to tell me how much they want for Raoul's return and, yet, they seem to take pleasure in torturing him for sport! What the hell would you have me do, Arthur? Just tell me what you want me to do because no one seems to know! The gendarmes are of no use! They have found nothing – nothing! – in nearly three days! Those bastards are toying with us! And God alone knows what they are doing to my brother! What. Do. You. Want. From. Me!" Philippe spat out.

Arthur remained silent in the face of Philippe's anger and frustration.

"I want you to sit down," Xavier said as he placed a hand on Philippe's shoulder.

Philippe whirled on his best friend, a hand raised in anger.

"I would not advise such an action," Xavier said in an even tone as he grabbed Philippe's wrist. "Put your hand down, Philippe. It is of no use to hit me; all it will do is earn you bruised knuckles." The two men stared at each other; Philippe lost in his grief, Xavier lost in his concern. "Philippe," Xavier tried again and could feel the tense muscles in the wrist under his fingers relax. He watched as the anger began to drain from Philippe's face to be replaced by a worried fear that was of far more concern than the anger.

"I just want someone to tell me what I should do," Philippe said with a break in his voice. He slumped back into his chair. "I find I cannot even think anymore. All my thoughts are for Raoul and what they are doing to him." His eyes lowered, his brows knitting in confusion. "I do not understand why they feel the need to hurt him. What would prompt someone to do such a thing? I will give them what they want and old promises between brothers be damned; there is no need to hurt him. Do they not know I would do anything to have my brother back?"

"I think they are counting on that," Xavier said quietly with a shake of his head. "If they are from around here or have talked to any of our local villagers, they will know how close the ties are that bind your family together. They will know that any pain they inflict upon Raoul is pain that will tear at you, as well. They will know that they have you exactly where they wish you to be – at their beck and call. They know you will do what they want."

Arthur cleared his throat. "I also think they are finding some sick, twisted enjoyment in this. It is not so very long since the siege and the riots in Paris. We were fortunate that such things did not find their way this far south. But there will always be those who resent any person who has more than they themselves have; whether that be a pair of shoes or an ancient title and the money that usually accompanies such a privilege." He held a steady gaze as Philippe raised his head to look at him. "Greed and envy make for powerful masters. I think whoever has Raoul is finding enjoyment in the knowledge that you are miserable; that they have the power to knock you from the pedestal upon which they think you sit."

The room was silent.

"Arthur is correct, you know." Xavier's words broke the silence.

"If it is hatred of me, why take it out on Raoul?" Philippe asked. "He is the one person I know who has never harbored a cruel thought for anyone!" A funny look crossed his face. "He is a far better man than I could ever hope to be," Philippe whispered almost to himself.

"There was one man who would find pleasure in seeing both you and Raoul in pain," Arthur said, his words needing no further explanation.

"He is gone," Philippe said. "He let Raoul and Christine go and he just disappeared." He shook his head. "It cannot be him."

Xavier was curious. "Why? Why could it not be that phantom? He was certainly angry enough to try to kill you both at one time."

Philippe leaned his head back into the soft leather of his chair, his eyes studying the plaster swirls of the ceiling above his head. "It could not be him. I spoke to Raoul and Christine after that night. I know what happened in the moments before he allowed them their freedom. He would not do this."

The silence grew in the room again. Arthur and Xavier exchanged worried looks, Arthur nodding his head at Philippe. Xavier nodded in return.

"Philippe," he started and waited until Philippe had turned his head. "I know you are concerned but there are things that must be attended to and one of them is your bankers. They are going to need authorization to release any sizeable amount of money and you are the only one who can do such a thing. You must let Arthur and I deal with this for your presence will be needed here." Xavier took two steps closer to where Philippe sat, placing his hand on Philippe's shoulder. "Christine is close to a breakdown and she is going to need your strength as much as you will need whatever strength she still possesses." Xavier managed a wan smile. "And you should both be here when God hears our prayers and Raoul returns." There was no answer. "Yes?"

Philippe managed a slight nod as he reached a thin hand up to run through hair peppered with gray. "I had nearly forgotten about Christine. What kind of brother am I?"

"One with too many concerns," Arthur told him. "One who cannot bear this burden alone."

"One who needs to trust his friends enough to know they have his family's best interests at heart," Xavier finished.

Philippe thought before nodding his head. "You are both correct. I need help. I cannot do this alone." He gave a short laugh. "I told Christine the same thing the night we received the first ..." his voice trailed off and Philippe closed his eyes, his teeth clenching, his brow contorting in pain. He felt the hand on his shoulder tighten in comfort.

"It will be all right," Xavier assured him. "It will be all right."

There was a knock at the door; Arthur stood, turning toward the sound. "Come," he called out.

The door slowly opened and Mathilde, the housekeeper stood there, all eyes in the room turning towards her. The color in Philippe's face drained as he noticed the large package she held in her hands. Mathilde took a few steps into the room, the ashen color of her face matching the pallor of each man in the room.

"I ..." Mathilde began and stopped, her eyes welling with tears. She swallowed them back; she would not let down her family when they needed her the most. "This was found near to the stile that leads into the far pasture. The herdsman brought it to me as soon as it was found."

Arthur took one step forward. "I'll take that."

"No!" Philippe's voice was strong as he stood and moved toward his trusted housekeeper. "No," he repeated as he held out his hands. "This is my responsibility."

Philippe and Mathilde stared at each other, eyes reflecting pain and concern and years of shared trust and friendship that had nothing to do with the relationship of employer to employee.

"Please," Philippe asked simply. He could not look down but felt as the package was transferred into his hands, a sigh of relief escaping his lips as he realized the package was too light to hold a body part.

"I'll be going," Mathilde said.

"Please stay," Philippe begged her. "You are as much a part of this family as anyone in this room." There was no answer. "Please? For me?" Philippe watched as she nodded and he turned to walk back to his desk, placing the plain brown package carefully on the clear desktop. Trembling hands reached out for the twine that held the package closed.

"Let me," Xavier offered.

Philippe drew in a deep breath. "No," he said. "This is truly my responsibility." His fingers closed around the ends of the twine and Philippe was grateful the steadying hand he felt on his back. The twine ends were pulled in opposite directions and the string came away from the package. "Oh God," Philippe breathed as his hands pulled gently at the edges of the brown paper. He stopped short of fully revealing what lay in the paper as he took note of a sheet of white paper. He reached in and pulled it out, opening it, eyes scanning the contents.

"What does it say?" Arthur asked. "What do they want?"

"One hundred thousand francs," Philippe said softly, his voice nearly a whisper.

"What!" Arthur exclaimed.

"What?" Xavier echoed. "Are they crazed?"

"In small bills that can be easily disposed of," Philippe continued. "They want the money in five days time or they will begin sending Raoul back in pieces." Philippe laid the note he was holding down and stared at the half-open package on his desk, talking directly to the inanimate object. "They have sent us another warning to show that they mean what they say." His hands reached for the paper and pulled open the package; Philippe blanched the white of new fallen snow. "Raoul," he breathed as he reached in and drew out a cut and blood-stained shirt.

He was not the only one in the room who lost all color. Mathilde turned her head away in horror, her hands going to her mouth, her eyes tearing up. Arthur's hands clenched into fists even as his teeth clenched shut in anger. Xavier reached for the shirt, his hands going to a hole with darkened edges.

"Dear God," he wondered, "is that from a branding iron?"

"No!" a scream came from the doorway.

Everyone in the room looked toward the doorway to see Christine and Monique standing there, Monique holding tightly to the young woman who was staring at the shirt held between Philippe's hands. Christine's eyes were wide, her mouth open, a single hand reaching toward Philippe.

"Raoul," she said in a hollow voice.

Philippe quickly dropped the shirt back to his desk, Xavier moving the paper over the top of it.

"Christine," Philippe said as he started to cross the room towards her.

"Oh God, Raoul," Christine whispered as she bent over, a hand going to her mouth. "No, no, no," she managed before breaking free from Monique's grasp and running toward the front door.

"Christine!" Philippe exclaimed, hard on her heels, everyone else following close on his.

Philippe chased Christine out the front door, unable to catch the woman fleeing in panic. He could not reach her as she stumbled down the front stairs. Philippe took the same stairs two at a time, desperate to reach Christine for he could see what she could not in her blind despair - two horsemen galloping up the lane; Didier and Henri returning to Chagny after spending the night at Xavier's home. Christine ran out in front of them, the riders pulling up short.

"Damn stupid little ..." Henri began and stopped as Philippe also ran in front of his horse.

"What?" Didier asked as he, too, watched the scene unfolding before them.

Philippe finally caught up with Christine as she stopped in the drive, bending over, both arms wrapped around her middle. Philippe watched helplessly as the bile that had been roiling away in Christine's stomach bubbled over and she coughed and sputtered. He placed his hands on her shoulders as the dry heaves took over when there was nothing left for Christine to lose. Dry heaves eventually gave way to deep sobs and that is when Philippe gently straightened Christine, turning her to face him, shocked at her green pallor.

"Raoul," she managed to get out between her sobs.

Philippe could no longer hold back his own frightened tears as he drew his brother's wife into his arms.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter Summary:** Even as a life and marriage are threatened, other lives meet and a romance is born.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

Antoinette Giry looked at herself in the full-length mirror, eyes carefully contemplating the woman staring back at her. Thin, still elegant hands reached down and twitched the dark satin into place around hips, allowing the dress to fall in a graceful wave to the floor. Approving of the view from the front, Antoinette turned around to examine the view from behind. She smiled as she looked over her shoulder, the season's new, smaller bustle more appropriate to a woman of a certain age. Having given her dress a final approval, Antoinette reached for the small, matching hat upon her vanity. She settled it in the midst of her braided hair, fixing it into place with a single pearl hatpin. She picked her reticule up from the same vanity, glancing briefly at the clock before leaving her room and walking down the stairs of her home. She turned at the bottom of the stairs and made her way to the main parlor. Antoinette paused for a moment in the open doorway, a smile crossing her face at the sight that greeted her eyes.

Tallis sat upon the huge sofa, a book in her hands, a look of confused concentration on her face. A tray holding tea things rested upon the table before her, the cup off the saucer, the lid off the sugar pot. Several sheets of stationary were scattered on the sofa next to her, full of Tallis' large, easy flowing script. Antoinette watched as Tallis began to chew on her bottom lip.

"My dear?" she ventured.

Tallis looked up, the sheepish grin on her face turning into one of happy amazement. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "You are wearing the new dress!"

Antoinette walked into the room and turned around once. "What do you think?" she wondered.

"It is so beautiful!"

"I do not know," Antoinette said as she looked down at the dark blue dress. "It has been so very long since I have worn anything but black."

Tallis looked puzzled. "Do you not like the dress?"

"It is very fashionable," Antoinette admitted, "and Meg will be very pleased to see me in it." She managed a small smile. "But, yes, I do find that I like this dress. It is quite comfortable and it is a very attractive color."

"I think is a beautiful color!" Tallis agreed. "You must learn to wear colors for colors make small children happy."

Antoinette pursed her lips at her companion before breaking into a smile that lit her eyes. "Ah! Such a thing to say!" she said before growing more serious. "What do you plan to do with this day? Are you sure you do not wish to accompany me to my daughter's home?"

Tallis shook her head. "No," she told Antoinette emphatically. "You must go and enjoy the day with the Baroness. I shall stay here and try to understand all these books." She waved a hand over the books and papers around her.

"Surely you do not intend to stay inside with the books all day?" Antoinette was a bit shocked but her eyes narrowed with dawning knowledge as she once again took note of the hand-written papers scattered about the sofa. "My dear, what did I tell you about him?"

Tallis leaned back into the velvet covered cushions. "That I should just be myself." She heaved a great sigh. "But there are times when I feel so ... so ..." Tallis struggled to find the correct word.

"Inadequate?" Antoinette suggested.

"That is what I mean," Tallis replied as her face fell. "I am not a sophisticated, glamourous woman who knows the correct word to say or the right way to flirt with her fan. I am what I am - a girl from the country." Her voice fell. "I could never be his equal."

The suspicions that had formed in Antoinette's mind the previous week when Tallis had entered the room while she had been speaking with Erik now became truths. "You heard?" Antoinette asked and did not need an answer as she watched Tallis drop her eyes. "If you choose to eavesdrop on personal conversations," Antoinette's voice had taken on its stern "ballet mistress" quality, "then you must have the fortitude to listen to the entire conversation and not run away when it becomes unpleasant for you to hear." She was pleased at the color that rose in Tallis' cheeks. "Look at me child," Antoinette commanded and waited as Tallis raised worried eyes. "I am not happy that you chose to listen in to a private conversation."

"I did not mean to do so!" Tallis said quickly. "It was the music that drew me and I could not help but hear the words spoken after. I am sorry." She was truly contrite. "It shall not happen again."

"I know it shall not," Antoinette assured her as she clasped gloved hands lightly in front of her waist. She gave Tallis a small smile. "I only wish you had heard the rest of the conversation." Antoinette paused. "Do you not wish to know what he said?"

"I am almost afraid to know," Tallis said.

"Do you think that much of him, then?"

"Yes," came the softly spoken reply.

"You and Erik shall be the death of me," Antoinette sighed to herself and then more loudly, "I shall tell you what he said and I want you to listen to my words and take them to heart." She caught Tallis' eyes and held them through her own willpower. "You feel that you are inadequate next to him; he feels that he is unworthy of you." Antoinette smiled inwardly at the shocked look that passed over Tallis' face. "He does not wish to bring you into the darkness that will ever call to him. It is a painful thing to know that the darkness still binds him and it is a difficult thing for me to pull him from it. Yet, I grow old and wish to spend my remaining years in the daylight, enjoying the world and the grandchildren that God may someday grant me. You are the only person into whose hands I can safely put Erik for you will be able to bring him from the darkness when I am no longer capable of doing so."

"I think I love him," Tallis finally admitted her thought out loud.

"That is all he requires," Antoinette told her, turning her head toward the front of the house as carriage wheels could be heard through the open windows. She turned back to Tallis. "Put the books away, my dear; they do you good, I will admit, but that is not what is needed now. Take a small lunch and go outside to enjoy the day." She winked. "Perhaps you may find yourself with company."

Tallis placed the book aside as she stood, smoothing the wrinkles of her plain brown skirt and beige shirt. "Thank you," she said softly.

"Ah," Antoinette dismissed her words with a wave of her hand and watched as Tallis crossed the room. She accepted the quick kiss on her cheek with a gracious nod. "Remember, child, take my words to heart. Now, walk me to the door." Antoinette was glad that Tallis was yet innocent enough not to realize that she had planned this day, inviting herself to her daughter's home. And inviting Erik to a luncheon at which she would not be present.

The two women linked arms and walked to the front door, Tallis opening it for Antoinette. She watched as the older woman climbed into the carriage before turning to close the door behind herself.

"I think I love him," Tallis said aloud as she returned to the parlor; the words sounded foreign to her ears. She paused for a moment, looking down at the book and the papers. "I think I love him," she said again as she gathered them into her arms, walking across the room to place the book on the shelf, the papers in the desk drawer that she had been given. "I think I love him," she repeated, returning to the sofa, collecting the serving tray from the table before heading for the kitchen.

Tallis felt numb as she walked down the hallway, her thoughts racing sending the blood in her veins pounding. She entered the comfortable, sunny kitchen, placing the serving tray on the huge wooden work table in the center of the room. Her brow creased into a little frown as she questioned herself, "I think I love him?" She picked up the lid of the sugar bowl, ready to return it to its proper place, when she paused. Tallis turned the lid over in her hands, staring into the white underside with the crescent removed for the spoon and seeing a masked face beneath the fine porcelain. She stared it for a few moments, feeling something beginning to grow in her heart, bubbling up and escaping through her lips as small giggles. Her giggles could not be stopped as Tallis moved about the kitchen, cleaning the items from the serving tray. The giggles gave way to joyous laughter as Tallis put away the tea service. "I love him," she whispered in amazement and lifted her eyes to the ceiling. "I do love him!" she shouted as she flung her arms open before hugging herself tightly. She continued to laugh at her discovery, the laughter slowly giving way to tears. "I love him," came the barely audible words.

Tallis stood for long moments in the middle of Antoinette's happy little kitchen, her arms wrapped about herself, the tears streaking down her cheeks. She had never thought to fall in love - that was something that was destined for others. She had come from a cottage on a grand estate near to the German border to a small but elegant home on the outskirts of Paris, childhood dreams coming true with every new day and somehow, somewhere in the fulfillment of her deepest wishes another had managed to come true. The unspoken wish, the desire that had lingered unbidden at the doors of her heart, had come knocking in the form of a strange, enigmatic man. He had knocked and her heart had opened and Tallis would never be able to close that door again. As she stood in that sunny room, amazed at the discovery that the day had brought to her, Tallis was quite certain that she did not want that door to close. She wanted to savor this moment, to fling open all the doors to all the dreams she had kept hidden in her heart. She wanted to hug the very universe even as she shouted her joy from the mountaintops.

"I love him," Tallis said again, as she reached to wipe away the tears, still in awe of the words that passed her lips.

Tallis floated through the rest of her morning, carried along on the clouds that had descended from the heavens. She did not think she could stomach the idea of food but Antoinette's words danced to the music that played in her mind and Tallis found herself reaching for a woven basket from a stop shelf. She studied the cabinets about herself and put bread and fruit and cheese into the basket. Tallis grabbed a loaf of still-warm bread from the top of the ovens, wrapping it in a piece of linen she pulled from a drawer. She found a bottle of wine left over from the previous night and put that into the basket. She reached for a single glass and thought better of it, placing two plain glasses into the basket. Tallis found another piece of linen and placed it over the entire contents of the basket, tucking it in at the sides. She tucked the basket over her arm and allowed the clouds under her feet to float her out the kitchen door and into the sunny, early summer garden.

Placing the basket in the center of a wrought iron table on the back porch, Tallis wandered out into the stone path that meandered through the thick, green grass. She had her hands clasped lightly in front of her as she walked past the herb garden and the vegetable garden and the flower beds that she so lovingly tended. Seasoned eyes, taught by long hours spent at a mother's side, saw the little weeds and stray debris scattered amongst the gardens and Tallis would stop to retrieve them. When the bundle became too much for her hands, Tallis lifted her skirt and placed the debris into the cradle she had fashioned, wishing that she had worn an apron. She walked toward the shed near the woods and dumped her bundle into the compost pile, knowing the hired gardeners would tend to it. She paused to look into the shadows of the woods, smiling to herself before turning, her feet guiding her back to the house.

Tallis paused at the sight of the pink zinnia's lining the edge of one flower bed. She reached down and plucked two of them, holding them lightly in her hands. A gentle finger ran over the small pink petals on each flower, enjoying the soft feel and earthy smell. "Lasting affection," Tallis repeated the words she had learned from the head gardener on the Baron's estate. "Lasting affection," she repeated as she smiled, her voice soft and low. The small flowers with their complicated layers of petals and odor of warm earth and sunshine reminded her of the man who had claimed her heart and changed her life. Tallis kept the two flowers in her hands as she walked back to the table where she had placed the basket containing her lunch. "I know and that is enough," she whispered as she placed the flowers on the table and brushed the dirt from the front of her skirt.

"What is it you know?" a male voice wondered.

Startled, Tallis looked up to see Erik standing at the side of the porch, his arms resting on the stone railing. He was without his mask and was grinning at her, one eyebrow raised. Tallis blushed at his look and words but quickly recovered. "Do you often listen in to private conversations with God?" she wondered, a soft smile belying her words.

Erik stayed where he was, leaning over the railing, finding he quite liked the view. "I do not know much of God," he replied, "but I do believe that prayer should be kept quiet if one does not wish to share."

Tallis was finding Erik's usual sarcasm to be very charming and broadened her smile. "I shall have to introduce you to God, then; in the meantime, I do have something to share." She stepped from in front of the table. "Would you care to join me?"

"As long as God will not be joining us," Erik said, his eyes narrowing.

That remark went a little too far and Tallis' smile dimmed a bit. "God is always with us," she reminded him.

Erik straightened and bowed slightly. "Please accept my apology."

Tallis studied him for a long moment, watching the worry begin to cross his face. "Apology accepted," she relented and waved a hand at the table. "Please?"

A strange sense of relief flowed through Erik as he rounded the corner of the house and approached Tallis. He took her hand in his own and nodded over it. "Thank you," he said. "I should like to join you." He looked toward the door. "Is Antoinette not joining us?"

"No," Tallis told him with a shake of her head. "She is spending the afternoon with her daughter." Tallis heard the sigh that escaped Erik's lips and she frowned slightly. "Antoinette told me you were coming. Is there something wrong? Should we not be alone together?"

Erik, too, could relent. "No," he said as he pulled out a chair for Tallis before taking one of his own. He made a mental note to speak with Antoinette about her meddling, matchmaking ways. "There is nothing wrong." He reached for the basket in the center of the table, his hands passing over the two zinnias. "Only two?" he wondered, as he lifted the linen from the basket and began to place its contents on the table.

Tallis straightened her shoulders. "I did not wish to pluck every flower from the garden."

"Touche," Erik said.

"Pardon?"

"It is nothing," Erik said as he poured wine into the two glasses. "One would almost think this whole afternoon was carefully planned." He handed a glass to Tallis, his fingers lingering against hers.

"Planned?" Tallis asked.

Erik smiled at the frown on her face. "And it was a lovely plan, indeed," he told her, his voice deep and soft, drawing her into his eyes.

"I am hungry," Tallis breathed, trying to find her way through the spell Erik was weaving about her. Her eyes caught a movement and she lowered them to see Erik's glass being raised. A numb hand went to her own glass, mimicking Erik's movements. "To what do we drink?"

Erik lightly touched his glass to hers, his eyes never straying from the silver-grey eyes into which he found himself falling. "To dear friends," he told her, gratified at the smile she gave him.

"To dear friends," Tallis echoed, the happiness she had been feeling all morning, warming, as she found joy in the friendship so freely offered. She placed her glass down as Erik did the same before he began to split the simple meal between them.

They ate in comfort for some time, their conversation flowing easily. They spoke of Antoinette and Meg; Erik sharing small tales from the opera house, delighting in the interest that crossed his companion's face. They talked of the small town in which they lived; Tallis telling Erik what it was like to move freely about, inspecting shops and vendor stalls, amazed at his interest in the simple things of daily life. They spoke the gardens, Tallis telling him of the flowers and herbs that were yet to come. Erik told her of the woods, the small animals and wildflowers seen beneath its sheltering canopy, promising to one day take her and Antoinette to see for themselves.

"You are truly happy here," Erik stated as he took a sip of wine, placing his glass upon the tabletop.

Tallis had had her eyes trained to the clouds that passed overhead and lowered them to look at the man seated beside her. "I am."

"Did you never wish for more than this?" Erik wondered before taking his heart into his hands. "Did you never wish for a home and family of your own?"

Tallis lowered her head. "Why do you ask?" she wondered, looking at Erik from beneath her eyelashes, unaware of the stirrings her look created within him.

"I know so little of you," Erik said as he swallowed, leaning back in his chair. "I have a desire to know more." He gave her a small smile. "Is that not what friends do?" And held his breath.

"It is," Tallis told him and rested her hands in her lap, turning her head to look out into the garden. She, too, took her heart into her hands. "I have had my share of suitors," she admitted. "They were all respectable men and my parents would have given their approval to any of them. Yet that is not what I desired. I had no wish to wed a farm hand or a mill worker and immediately become a mother and grow old before my time. I had seen such a thing too often with my friends and my siblings." She turned her eyes back to Erik. "I wanted more from my life." Tallis found she could no longer read his closed expression. "I wanted to see the world beyond my front door. I wanted to know that there was more to life than just simply marrying and raising a family."

"And now?" Erik wondered softly.

"Now I have seen the world beyond my front door, the world of my dreams." Tallis sighed happily. "It is beautiful and exciting and everything I ever dreamed it could be." She cocked her head to one side. "Perhaps, now, my dreams shall change and become something that shall be ..." Tallis struggled to find the correct word.

"Permanent?" Erik suggested, the breath caught in his throat.

"Yes," Tallis nodded brightly. "Permanent. That is the word." Her words brought forth a silence between them. "What of you?" Tallis finally asked as she studied him gently. "I hear such dreams in the music that you create!"

Erik found he had no desire to correct her language and instead lowered his eyes to study his fingernails. "They are merely notes strung together to compose a melody that is pleasing to the ear." He shook his head. "Any dreams I may have dared died years ago."

"All of them?" came the whispered question.

"Not all," came the equally whispered admission.

"Thank God," came the even softer prayer of thanks.

Erik raised his head at the words that had passed Tallis' lips. He found himself drawn into grey eyes that sparkled with the silver of evening stars. "If I may be so bold as to ask," Erik ventured and continued as Tallis did not object. "What do your dreams look like now?"

"You," Tallis said simply and without hesitation.

"You do not know what nightmares lay beyond those dreams," Erik told her. "I am what I am; I am a creature who finds comfort in the darkness. I draw strength from the pain I inflict and there is horror in the beauty I create," he warned her.

"And I am what I am," Tallis insisted. "I have been told of the horror of which you are capable." She managed a small laugh. "And I have seen that wicked temper you possess." Her look grew soft. "I also know that each of us is capable of such things; yet not everyone can create the beauty you do." She thought for a moment. "I am a simple girl and I know what it is I desire. I know my own mind."

"Would that you knew mine."

A hand reached toward Erik. "Let me know your mind," Tallis said. "Let me help you find the joy in my world and teach me the beauty in your darkness."

Thoughts of a young girl knocked insistently at the doors to the memories Erik had buried. He remembered the fear and resignation in those dark eyes and searched for the same emotions in the eyes that currently searched his face. He could not find them. Instead he saw honesty and compassion and something he had never dared to hope for again; Erik saw love in those eyes and it terrified him. He did not wish to love again for such an action had only brought him pain that had torn his very soul from his body. Yet he could not resist the promise that sat before him. Erik took the hand that reached for him, reaching for the other, as well. "I am frightened of this and unsure if it is wise. I do not wish to push you from me and I cannot help but think that I shall do so."

"It frightens me, as well. I do not know what shall become of us but I do know I wish to discover what it may be. I know you feel something for me beyond our friendship; it is in your eyes when you think I do not see." Tallis gently squeezed the hands that held her own. "And I make you this promise, no matter what may become of us, I shall always be your friend."

"That shall be a hard promise to keep," Erik cautioned.

"Than it shall be my responsibility and mine alone."

They stared at each other quietly, the minutes drawing out.

"Are you quite sure?" Erik asked.

"I know my heart," Tallis assured him.

Erik smiled upon her, a smile which had never before crossed his lips. It was a smile of hope, carrying upon it the promise that lay on the horizon of his life. "I should like to know it, as well," Erik whispered as he leaned forward, his lips brushing against Tallis'.

"Oh," Tallis breathed before Erik's lips met hers again.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter Summary:** Fear is the unseen presence lurking in the calm before the storm.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

The air of late spring hung heavy over the European continent. There were still three days until the summer solstice and Nature had chosen to give a preview of what was to come as warm air drifted across the English Channel, bringing with it a humidity oppressing all in its path. It stilled the movement of man and beast alike, only the buzzing of flying creatures left to break the potent silence. Men longed for the end of work days when they could return home to loosen ties and remove heavy boots. Idle women sat next to open windows, high collars pulled back, exposing the skin of white necks, as they waited for a stray breeze to ease the discomfort caused by tight corsets and heavy fabric. Busy women rolled their eyes, moved sleeves further up arms and wiped at the sweat-beaded brows, sighing as they continued ever forward. People moved slowly through their lives, looking over their shoulders, waiting for something. It was almost as if they were trying to delay the inevitable, trying to hide from Fate.

It was a fool's game for Fate can never be denied.

Erik sat at his piano, hands resting lightly on the ivory keys, staring at an empty sheet of music paper. He could hear her voice in his head but he could not find the notes to commit her music to the page. He could not find the correct combination of chords and grace notes to express her honesty. He could not find the place where their music met and joined their lives together. Erik closed his eyes, struggling to hear the simplicity of her life song through the darkness that was his own. She had said there was beauty in the darkness that claimed him but Erik was afraid of that beauty, afraid of what it made him do. He shook his head, closed eyes narrowing in pain as buried memories crawled through that darkness.

"I do not want this," he whispered through clenched teeth. Unbidden, his fingers began to pick out notes, discordant and angry. "I do not know how to let her go." The notes, still discordant, grew quiet. "I do not know how to say goodbye." The notes deepened, growing sadder, until Erik suddenly slammed his fingers down. "Damn you, Christine!" he shouted as he opened his eyes and stood.

"Damn you, Christine," he whispered sadly as he walked to the window seat. Erik sat and looked down at the street below, a couple walking past, their heads close together as they shared a quiet intimacy. Erik turned away from the sight, unable to comprehend the emotions it stirred within his heart. "How am I to ever love her the way she deserves when I still hear your voice in my every thought? How can I ever be the man she sees when all I see is your face in my every dream?" His voice lowered. "My every nightmare." Erik sighed. "Damn you, Christine," he said without emotion. He slammed his head against the wall behind him, relishing the pain his action brought forth. "And damn you, Tallis, for not finding me sooner."

Tallis, too, was struggling with the powerful emotions that the last week had brought forth from the depths of her heart. She lay outside, in the back garden, under a towering oak tree. A blanket had been spread on the grass beneath the tree as Tallis tried to find a cool breeze, a bit of relief from the stifling heat, a bit of relief from the emotional heat that raced through her veins. Tallis gazed up at the sun that drifted down, rays dancing as they filtered through the leaves. She sighed as she watched the patterns of light and dark play over still leaves, over the blue linen of her dress.

"Light," Tallis said in a soft sing-song as she touched a small spot of sun on her stomach. "Dark," she said in the same tone as she touched a shaded spot. "Tallis," a finger touched a sunny spot on her throat. "Erik," as the fingers moved to lips shaded by the overhead canopy. "Erik," Tallis breathed again as her fingers moved lightly over lips that longed for the gentle hesitancy of other lips.

_But why does he hesitate?_ Tallis wondered, personal demons crawling forth from dusty corners of long-discarded dreams. _Am I not smart enough? Am I not pretty enough? Am I not enough? _She lowered her gaze to the body and curves that stretched out in front of her._ Can I ever be enough?_

Antoinette watched her friend and companion through the window of her drawing room. She sat by the open window, a book forgotten in her lap as she contemplated the woman reclining on her back lawn. Antoinette had been relieved when Tallis and Erik had approached her with the news that their feelings had deepened, that they wished to court, to explore the friendship that had formed between them. She had smiled inwardly at the uncertainty the couple had manifested in their approach to her; their sweet, child-like joy in the discovery of their mutual attraction a relief to her soul. She also knew the doubts that plagued each of them, the tiny voices of fear that slowly nibbled away at the confidence of a soul.

Antoinette leaned her head against the window sash, closing her eyes and sighing. She was happy for her friends, happy that two wandering souls had found each other in the wilderness. Yet her happiness was tempered with reality, the reality of her own soul's small voice. It was the voice that wondered if two people so wounded by the unfulfilled dreams of a lifetime - however short - could truly be happy. It was the voice that wondered if light would ever be strong enough to penetrate a darkness that would shake the Devil himself. It was the voice that would wake her in the night, scolding, bringing forth her own inadequacies and fears. It was the voice that said she could have done more, should have done more.

"Bah!" Antoinette whispered harshly to herself as she opened her eyes, turning them back to the book in her lap. "I cannot change what has happened," she continued and turned back to look at the woman in the yard, under the tree. "All I can do is keep watch and guide them whenever possible." She raised her eyes towards the sky. "Let them be as happy as my Meg and her Val."

Meg was happy in the arms of her Val; she would always find them a warm shelter from the harpies that scratched at the windows and clawed at the door. When she was in his arms, the matrons of Society, the old men with their appraising glances did not matter; all that mattered was Val and the love they shared. It was when she was not with Val that Meg's fears would begin to chisel away at the confidence she wore like protective armor. It was then that the ballet rat would falter in the carefully choreographed steps she wove through her life. It was then that she would begin to doubt what she knew. It was then that the steps became complicated and confusing. It was then that Meg would stumble, failing, falling; falling into the arms of her husband. Meg sighed and smiled, looking down at the head resting in her lap.

In the face of the morning's heat, Val had chosen to stay home, working from his study. Midday had found him lunching in the coolness of a shaded patio, Meg seated next to him. He had laughed with his pretty wife, lightly touching crystal glasses together, feeding each other like the newlyweds they still were. They had plotted like two school children over their visit to the grand estate that they would one day truly call their own. He had promised Meg that she would be allowed to throw open every curtained window, every closed door. Val insisted he wanted some of the sunshine that was his wife to pervade into his ancestral home even as it pervaded his soul. Now they rested quietly in Meg's drawing room, Val dreaming happily, his head cradled in the warmth of his wife's lap.

"I love you," Meg whispered as thin fingers traced the outline of an intelligent brow.

"No more than I love you," came the reply as Val grasped the hand on his face, drawing it to his lips.

"Not possible," Meg replied.

A smile crossed Val's face. "Everything is possible."

Possibilities were also on the mind of a young man who lounged in a drawing room in the south of France, long, elegant legs stretched out before him. He had his eyes trained into the crystal wine glass held between thin fingers, a small frown creasing an otherwise handsome face.

"You will never find the answers in the bottom of that glass," Didier told the man seated opposite him.

Henri plastered a smile on his face and raised his eyes. "It is not those answers I seek," Henri replied. "I am questioning the dregs of my drink as to whether or not they would like a companion."

Didier hoped his companion would not see the disgust on his face. "And what did they answer back?

"Nothing," Henri said as he returned his gaze to the glass. "Nothing."

"Do you not think you should be at Chagny with Philippe?" Didier wondered, careful to leave Christine's name out of it.

Henri kept his eyes averted, rocking the glass back and forth, watching the swirling shades of red. He closed his eyes again, his stomach turning as he saw his cousin's blood in the rich shiraz.

"Are you afraid?" Didier wondered as he watched Henri's eyes close.

"Yes," Henri breathed, unwilling to give voice to the fear that played across his mind. He was afraid that Raoul would die and that would leave him the responsibility of carrying on the family name and heritage. Even more frightening to the self-centered Henri was the thought that Raoul would not die. "I want it so much I can taste it," he murmured under his breath.

Didier had not caught the barely spoken words. "What?"

Henri returned the smile to his lips, raising his face. "I can nearly taste another glass of this fine shiraz." The smile disappeared as he took note of the disproving look upon Didier's face. "Do not judge me too harshly," Henri said as he raised the glass and drowned the dregs of the wine and his own selfish fears. "It is the only thing that is keeping me numb."

"We are all numb, I believe," Didier said as he stood and took Henri's glass. He moved to pour another glass, staring out the window. "I wonder if my uncle and Arthur succeeded in their task?"

The task that Xavier and Arthur had set out upon had been successful and even as Didier wondered, the two men were making their way back to Chagny. They sat on opposite leather benches of a plain black coach, a padlocked box resting on the floor between them, a suited man seated next to each of them. Another quiet man sat next to the driver, his hands resting casually in his lap, across the gun hidden by the travel blanket. To the casual observer it was just another coach making its way from Lyon to the country that lay beyond. They could not see the concern written on the faces of those inside the coach; but those who were aware of the unseen currents moving through the heavily laden air would have sensed the fear and worry emanating from inside the coach.

"How much longer till we reach Chagny?" Arthur wondered as he turned his gaze from the window to Xavier.

Xavier pulled his watch out of its small vest pocket, his lips drawing down. "Not much longer yet still long enough." He put his watch back, shaking his head as he did so. "I hope we are in time."

"We must be," Arthur said quietly. "I cannot even bear to think upon what might happen if we are not."

The man sitting next to Xavier discreetly cleared his throat. "I assure you gentlemen," he began, "we shall be in time."

Xavier snorted and turned to Chief Inspector Robert Pichette. "No disrespect, Inspector, but you have not seen what these man are capable of and willing to do."

"None taken, Monsieur," Pichette replied. He had been their contact in Lyon and now accompanied the two men and the ransom back to Chagny. "It was a poor attempt to allay your very real fears."

"There will be nothing that will allay our fears less than the Vicomte's safe return," Arthur told him. Inspector Pichette inclined his head in understanding as Arthur once again turned to Xavier. "Did we do the right thing in telegraphing Desiree and Charlotte?"

Xavier thought in silence for a moment before nodding. "Philippe was right to contact them. They are Raoul's sisters and deserve to be at Chagny. You know they would never forgive any of us were they not there."

"But to telegraph?" A look of disgust crossed Arthur's face. "It seems so callous."

"Would you rather we send riders to Vienna and Rome? The time lost would have been too great." Xavier shook his head. "No, we did the right thing." Now it was his turn to look out the window. "I cannot even begin to imagine the anguish those dear ladies must be feeling."

"No less than the anguish already felt at Chagny," Arthur replied softly.

And at Chagny anguish performed a frenzied dance with fear. They followed through every door that was opened, tagging along at the hem of every skirt, clinging to every pant leg. They taunted with waking nightmares and haunted the darkness of restless sleep. They were the ghosts in remembered images of bloody clothes and torn hair. They were the unseen and unwanted guests that stole breath and stopped hearts. They were the demons that hid in the shadows waiting to rend apart the very fabric of life.

Christine stood at the dresser in her room, a drawer open before her, the box containing the Saint Joseph medal in her hands. She had one finger resting on the cool metal, studying the image of the human man holding the Son of God in his arms. Tears threatened to overwhelm her vision and Christine closed her eyes, willing them down. She sniffled, swallowing her own fears back, before opening her eyes, once again fixing her gaze on the medal held in her hands.

"You had the strength to look past your own fears," she whispered to the man, her finger moving gently over the image of the child. "You looked past your fears to see our own." Christine paused. "Raoul could always see past his." She sniffled again. "Past mine." She snapped the small box shut, slipping it back under the shawl, closing the drawer with a strong shove. "Now it is my turn." Her chin trembled as she looked at her pale reflection in the mirror. "Now I must move past my fears for his sake." Her lips formed a thin line. "I must." Her gaze drifted downward toward her feet. "For all of us."

Christine left her room and walked downstairs in search of Philippe. She found him where she knew she would - in his study, back to the room, staring out the window that overlooked the front drive. "Philippe," she called softly.

Philippe turned to her, his complexion as pale as her own. The dark circles under his eyes no darker than the ones under her eyes. "I thought you were resting," he said simply. "Are you feeling better?"

"Somewhat," Christine said as she entered the study, leaving the door open behind her.

"At least you can sleep," Philippe said somewhat bitterly. He closed his eyes at the look that passed over Christine's face. "I am sorry," he told her. "Each person must deal with their own grief and fear in their own way."

Christine clasped her hands before her. "To think that I came here to apologize."

Philippe's eyes snapped open. "What?"

Now it was Christine's turn to lower her eyes. "I have been acting like a child and I want to say that I am sorry." She sighed. "I have been so wrapped up in my own fears and guilt that I have not been the woman that ... that Raoul would wish me to be. He would be so disappointed in me and that is a feeling I have never been able to bear." She lifted her head. "I promise I shall stop being a burden to you."

Philippe laughed, a broken sound that threatened to become sobs; he coughed them down, composing himself. "Christine," he began, "you are not a burden. You are a woman who is terrified for the man she loves." Philippe took a step forward. "I have loved my brother for twenty-four years; you have loved him for two. Yet the time difference does not make the love each of us feels for him any less intense." Philippe took another faltering step forward. "It does not lessen our fears, our guilt." And another step. "You are not the only one feeling guilty. If I had not been selfish in asking you both here ..." Philippe stopped, unable to find the words to continue.

In the space of a single breath, Christine had crossed to Philippe's side and drew him into her arms. "It is all right," she managed through the tears she could no longer control. Christine felt Philippe's head go to her shoulder and she placed a trembling hand on his neck, feeling his tears soak into her silk-clad shoulder. "I need to be strong for him, for us" she whispered as her fingers gently massaged Philippe's neck. "I need to be strong for you."

Philippe drew back, reaching for the hand that had been massaging his neck, raising it to his lips. "Do not worry over me," he said weakly. "I am quite strong."

Christine managed a small, sad smile. "Did you not tell me that this was a burden you could not bear alone?" She straightened her shoulders. "You need whatever strength I have and I need yours."

Philippe returned the sad smile, still holding to Christine's hand. "And together we shall be strong enough to bring Raoul home."

Outside the open door to Philippe's study, Monique stood; she had been coming to look in on Philippe when she had heard voices. She had peeked into the room and quickly drew back as she saw Christine. Now Monique stood silently behind the open door, leaning against the wall, tears streaming down her cheeks. She ached for her friends, for the lives and possibilities that hung in the balance. She mentally berated herself for the selfish little ache that always lived within her heart – the ache of her own vanished possibilities. Monique cried for Philippe and Christine and what they might lose. She cried for the life that hung in the balance. She cried for herself and what she had lost, reaching a hand up to brush away the tears. Monique closed her eyes in silent prayer, bargaining with God, offering a continued willing acceptance of her own life if only He would bring Raoul home safely.

Thoughts of home were playing across the mind of the man for whose life everyone prayed. They faded in and out - almost like ghosts - as pain laid claim to the body and fear laid claim to the mind. Raoul struggled to hold onto the images of loved ones and happier times until a slight change in body position would cause pain to flare - despair hard on its heels - sapping strength and sanity. Fingers, muscles cramping from cold brought about by lack of circulation, curled as if they could hold to the fleeting, intangible images that teasingly reached through from the subconscious. His head dropped forward as the oppressive weight of the darkened room closed in upon him, chasing away all thoughts of rooms filled with bright light and laughter upon which sang the music of angels. Raoul shivered and did not know if it was from the pain, the fever that he could feel building within his pain-wracked body or the fears from which he could not run.

"Christine," he whispered, trying desperately to hold onto his last remaining link to sanity. Even in their darkest moment, he had found his strength in her dark eyes. Now those mirrors to his wife's soul were the dimming beacon in a night that surely and steadily closed in upon him. Raoul slowly raised his head, slightly shifting his position on the hard floor. Leg muscles involuntarily jumped from disuse, cramping up, adding to the pain from bruises Raoul could not remember receiving. He cried out once before letting the pain claim his mind, sending him sinking back into the still void where none could reach him.

"How much longer can he go on like this?" Edouard wondered as he watched from the doorway to the room in which Raoul was kept chained to the pole.

Francois shrugged. "However long it takes. He is alive and that is all we need do – keep him alive."

Edouard ran a hand across his face. The bones in the hand were thin, the fingers long and tapered bespeaking a romantic dalliance with a person of leisure somewhere in his ancestry. "I do not know," he said softly. "I do not see the need for such pain if all we are seeking is money."

"You are not required to see or to understand anything beyond that which you are told," a voice said before Francois could respond.

The two men turned around to see Louis and Nico coming in through the front door of the cottage.

"Forgive me," Edouard said with a look on his face that was in sharp contrast to the words that passed his lips.

"Forgiven," Louis said with a turn of his head and looked to Francois. "How is our friend?"

"Miserable," Francois replied.

Nico closed the cottage door and walked toward the two men standing opposite him. "He does not even know the meaning of the word," Nico told them as he pulled a small tool from his pocket, raising it before his face and turning it lightly. "Is he awake?"

"No," Francois said, his eyes going wide.

"Then you must wake him," Nico said softly.

Edouard blanched and turned away.

"I suggest you leave if you cannot deal with what must be done," Louis told him.

Nico walked to Edouard, turning first to look at Francois. "Wake him," he said before turning back to Edouard. He tapped the tool he held in his hands on the end of Edouard's nose. "Run away little boy." The tool snapped open and shut causing Edouard to narrow his eyes. "Run far away before the demons eat you, as well," Nico said, his eyes wide and never blinking before moving past, following Francois into the room.

Louis, too, had crossed the room, pausing briefly by Edouard's side. "Take his advice," he said simply. "You will know when to return."

Edouard said nothing but moved quickly across the main room of the cottage, going out the door and moving into the shelter of the surrounding woods. The first scream caused him to close in his eyes in pain. The second caused him to slump against a tree. The third caused him to clasp his hands over his ears in an attempt to blot out the sound.

He struggled not to hear the others.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter Summary:** Old feelings surface for Monique as she struggles to keep Philippe and his family together in light of what has been happening. Henri is confronted by both Monique and Philippe. Xavier and Arthur return with the ransom to find instructions have been received on how to deliver it. And they discover why the atmosphere surrounding Chagny is so unsettled ...

_(Author's Note: Icky bit ahead as we discover what was done "off screen" to Raoul in the last chapter.)_

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

Monique knocked softly on the door to Philippe's study and received no answer. She knocked again and receiving the same response, she carefully opened the door to look inside. The room was empty, the damask drapes closed plunging the entire room into a dark stillness. Monique shook her head and closed the door. She stood for a moment in the hallway of the silent house, feeling the weight of the walls closing in upon her. She raised her eyes to the ceiling and wondered how emotions fared on the second floor, knowing they were just as full of quiet desperation as they were throughout the ancient chateau. Monique walked toward the back of the house, seeking relief from the oppressive atmosphere. As she walked past the open door of the conservatory she heard male voices and hoped that Didier would be able to keep Henri under control; now was not the time for theatrics. Monique reached the doors to the back portico and opened them, pausing as she found the person she sought, her heart breaking at the sight that greeted her eyes.

Philippe stood at the edge of the portico, an arm leaning against one of the columns. Normally impeccable posture had given way to a curved back, slumped shoulders, a drooping head. The hand not supporting weight that seemed almost too much to carry covered eyes that could not bear to look out upon the new day. "I know you are there," Philippe said softly.

Monique closed the door and approached Philippe, stopping some distance behind him. "How did you know?"

"Jasmine," came the softly spoken answer. "You have always smelled of jasmine." There was a long moment of silence that spanned the years between them. "How is Christine? What did the doctor say?"

"Senor Gallardo would not say much," Monique replied. "He did say that she would need to drink more fluids and left instructions for Mathilde to give her ginger tea."

Philippe finally raised his head but did not turn to look at the person behind him. "I had the same reaction," he began, "so I am not surprised that Christine could not stop ..." his voice trailed off. "I am not surprised that she needs to replace lost fluids." Philippe ran a hand through his hair. "Why, Monique?" He turned to face her. "Why?"

Monique did not shrink from the hurt look that Philippe fixed upon her. "I wish I had an answer for you," she said calmly, "but I do not."

"What is Raoul going to be like if ..." Philippe paused to correct himself, "when ... when he comes home?" He looked down at his hands, a frown creasing his forehead. "How does a person endure ... that," the simple pronoun echoed with horror, "and not have a part of themselves torn away." Philippe's eyes grew wide as he realized what he had said, a single hand going to his mouth as he turned from Monique. He felt hands on his shoulders and pulled away, moving down to the first step off the portico.

"Philippe, please," Monique tried.

"What is wrong with me?"

"You did not mean what you said! Raoul would know that."

Philippe raised his eyes toward the clouds. "God help me, I did mean it." He shook his head. "I am terrified for my brother. I am terrified of what he is going to be like when he returns to us. I am terrified that I will not know the person who comes home."

"You will always know Raoul," Monique tried comforting him. She moved down one stair to stand beside Philippe. She turned to look at him as Philippe turned toward her. "I am not saying it will be easy or that some part of Raoul will not have changed." Monique reached out a hand to the one reaching for her. "I am saying that we all love him and that is what will bring all us through this." She squeezed the hand holding hers. "You have family and friends who love you both; do not shut us out."

"I may be aging by the moment and I am most definitely frightened but I am not foolish enough to think I will be able to cope without help," Philippe told her as he lightly tapped a finger against Monique's chin. His eyes closed in pain. "Dear God, what are we going to do?"

Monique could feel her heart breaking - new breaks, old breaks - and drew Philippe into her arms. She hugged him close, his rapidly beating heart pounding against her chest. Monique could feel Philippe's body shudder as he drew ragged breaths in an effort to compose himself. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to get lost in the moment, committing the sensations to memory before being suddenly drawn back to reality.

"I should not be doing this," Philippe said as he pulled from the embrace, looking in deep violet eyes before turning away. "You are my best friend's wife."

"I am also your friend," Monique said as she tried reaching for him, Philippe moving further away. "I have been such for these many years." Her hand fell to her side.

"I know." The two words were spoken in a strange tone as Philippe shook his head. "Just go."

"But ..." Monique said as she took a step closer.

"Please," Philippe begged her.

Monique bit back emotions that she had been biting back for years. "As you wish."

"Thank you."

Monique turned and walked toward the chateau, opening the door. She stepped inside and turned to look back. She watched silently as Philippe sat on the portico, his head falling into upraised hands. Monique bit her bottom lip, drew a deep breath and straightened her shoulders before carefully closing the door and moving back into the haunted stillness of the chateau. She struggled with the feelings that she found would no longer stay easily buried and paused in her steps, a hand going to her eyes.

"Aunt?"

"Didier," Monique breathed as she lowered her hand and opened her eyes.

"Are you well? Is there anything I can do?"

Monique looked at the young man standing before her and managed a wan smile. He looked so much like his uncle did at the same age; it brought back pleasant memories that helped to ease the chill in her soul. "Have you telegraphed your parents?"

Didier shook his head. "I do not wish to upset them until and unless there is reason. I shall let them know when Raoul returns."

"You are a decent young man," Monique told him as she laid a hand on his arm, watching as Didier squirmed slightly beneath the praise. "How does Henri fare?"

"I wish I knew," Didier said with a shake of his head. "I do not know the man I am watching," he admitted and paused as he composed his thoughts.

"You may say anything to me," Monique assured him. "After these last days ..." she shrugged.

Didier took his aunt's hand and led her to a loveseat against the wall. They sat down, Didier still holding to Monique's hand. "I wish you to know that I am aware of Henri's faults," Didier frowned slightly, "but that does not mean I do not like the parts of him that can be pleasant. He is great fun and has never been harsh or rude to me. And - in some respects - I understand his anger and the envy and why he feels the need to drown them in drink."

"I do not ..." Monique was confused. "You are to inherit everything that Xavier has built and it is not as if Henri will ever be left penniless."

"It is difficult to explain," Didier told her. "Now is not the time."

"Now is the time!" Monique interrupted. "I am trying desperately to keep Philippe centered and Christine from breaking down completely; I do not need any of Henri's shenanigans plaguing this household!" She looked sideways at her nephew. "Didier, I know that Henri has tried to take advantage of the situation between Raoul and Christine." Monique raised an eyebrow at the look of surprise that crossed the young man's face. "I may be getting on in years but I am not blind and I will not tolerate any further such actions. Is that understood?"

Didier looked at his hands. "I know that Henri tried to take advantage. He has always wanted everything that Raoul has or will have." His brow creased into a frown. "He thinks that Philippe takes too easy a hand with Raoul. He thinks that Christine should have only been a ... a diversion and not a wife. He thinks ..."

Monique snatched her hand back. "Henri thinks far too much," she spat angrily. "He knows nothing!"

"Do not presume, madame," an equally angry voice interrupted, "to know the thoughts in my mind."

Monique and Didier looked up to see Henri standing in an open doorway glaring at them. Didier rose to his feet. "Henri," he tried and stopped when Henri snarled at him.

"If you value our friendship, you will hold your tongue," Henri told him.

Monique, too, rose to her feet. "And if you wish to stay in this home, you will think upon the tone of voice you choose to take."

Henri took a step forward. "I believe you said that I think too much." He paused, hatred seething beneath his cultured demeanor. "And how dare you say anything regarding my behavior? This is not your home!"

"But it is mine," Philippe said as everyone turned to the sound of his voice. His chest heaved with his own anger. "I will not have you show any disrespect to any female under this roof under any condition. Is that clear?"

Henri clenched his jaw.

"Is that clear!" Philippe shouted.

"Yes," Henri mumbled.

"Pardon?" Philippe wondered.

"Yes cousin," Henri replied in a louder, though still slightly defiant, tone. "You make yourself perfectly clear."

"Now apologize to Madame," Philippe ordered.

Henri bowed slightly from the waist. "Pray forgive my deplorable manners," he said to Monique. "I meant no disrespect." His eyes gave lie to the words that passed his lips.

Monique inhaled deeply to settle her nerves. "Thank you and no offense taken for we are all under a great deal of stress."

Philippe glared at his cousin, refusing to look at Monique. "She is far more gracious than you deserve." He raised a hand and pointed at the back of the chateau. "Now get out and take some time to get your anger and bitterness under control. I cannot stomach the sight of you at the moment."

Henri stood silently for a moment, fists clenching and unclenching, before he turned on his heel and walked slowly down the hallway, control evident in every movement.

"Go after him," Monique whispered to Didier who placed a quick kiss on her cheek and went after Henri. Monique turned her attention to Philippe who was still seething. "He did not ..." she started.

"I do not care," Philippe interrupted. "I am going upstairs to see Christine and when I return I do not wish to hear any more of this." He looked briefly at Monique. "One further misstep from Henri and I shall send him packing and disown him faster than the ink can dry on my will."

"Philippe ..." Monique tried as he moved past.

"I need to tend to my brother's wife," Philippe told her as he moved past, feeling the emotional bond that was the third person between he and Monique making itself known. Philippe ignored the feeling and the woman with difficulty and walked to the front of the house, turning to move up the stairs. He took his time, breathing deeply, settling his unsteady nerves. He stopped in front of the door to Christine's bedroom, straightening his shirt, smoothing his sleeves, before knocking lightly.

"Come," he heard Mathilde's voice say.

Philippe opened the door and felt his nerves unravel further at the sight that greeted his eyes. Mathilde stood at the end of the huge four-poster bed, her arms crossed about her waist, watching the woman sitting on the window seat. Philippe could not help but follow her gaze.

Christine sat upon the velvet-covered window seat, staring unblinking out the window. Her back was straight, her posture rigid. She was dressed in a plain yellow morning dress, her hair loose, the curls tumbled. Her skin was pale, her face expressionless except for the far-away look in her huge eyes. Christine had her arms wrapped around her chest and in her hands she held a man's shirt.

Philippe sighed and entered the room, stopping next to his housekeeper. "How long has she been like this?"

"Since Senor Gallardo left," Mathilde told him. "I walked him to the front door so that I could understand his orders and when I came back," Mathilde nodded toward Christine, "I found her like that. She must have gone across the hall for the shirt."

Philippe laid a hand on Mathilde's shoulder. "Thank you," he whispered. "Why do you not go and get some tea? I will stay."

Mathilde smiled at the man for whose family she had worked for almost thirty years. "I shall return shortly," she whispered back and crossed the room.

Philippe heard the door close behind Mathilde and walked across the short distance to stand by Christine.

"A year and six months," Christine said softly.

"What?" Philippe was puzzled.

"I asked Senor Gallardo," Christine continued as Philippe sat on the opposite side of the window seat, her eyes still staring out the window. "It takes eighteen months to grow back." Christine lowered her head and sniffed at the shirt she held in her arms. "Eighteen months."

Philippe finally realized what she was saying. "Christine," Philippe's voice was full of compassion as he reached out to touch her hands.

"How could anyone do that to another person?" Christine wondered. "How could they do that to Raoul?"

A sad half-smile crossed Philippe's face. "I asked the same question and received no answer. I give you the same answer - I do not know why."

Christine stared unblinking at her husband's brother before returning her gaze to the outside world. "Why can they not leave him alone and send him back to us?" Her voice lowered. "He has to know."

Philippe saw her lips move but did not hear the words that Christine breathed. "I came to see how you were feeling. I understand that Senor Gallardo wishes you to drink more fluids."

"He does," Christine replied in a monotone.

"Christine," Philippe said as he reached for her chin and turned her head so that she was looking at him. "Is there something I should know? I know you have not been feeling well for some time." He sighed. "I cannot have you ill for the two of us will need to nurse Raoul back to health. That is not a job I can do alone."

"I will not fail you," Christine assured Philippe. "I will not fail Raoul."

"I have never doubted that," Philippe replied. "At the moment, though, I need you to put other doubts to rest; promise me that you are well."

Christine nodded. "I am. I can promise you that I am not ill." It was the truth and it was as far as Christine could take the truth until her husband was back in her arms.

"Those words are weight lifted from my shoulders." Philippe nodded his head and moved his hand from Christine's chin down to rest against the shirt she held so tightly. "May I take this?"

"No," Christine said with a shake of her head as she gripped the shirt tighter. "You will think me odd."

"Never," came the emphatic reply.

Christine studied Philippe's face, pulling Raoul's shirt to her chest. "If I hold to it," she began. "I think ... maybe ..." her voice broke and Christine closed her eyes and composed herself. "I think that maybe," she resumed as she opened her eyes, "maybe Raoul can feel me holding him." Christine shrugged her shoulders and bit her bottom lip. "Maybe he can feel ..." Her words were cut off by the scream that came from her lips as an explosion shattered the stillness that hung over the valley.

Philippe quickly drew Christine into his arms, rubbing her back and glowering out the window. "That damn mine."

"That damn mine," Monique echoed Philippe's words and tone of voice as she glanced at the mountains in the distance, the cloud of dust rising toward the heavens. She shook her head and sighed in disgust, walking down to the first landing at the front of the chateau.

Monique had quietly followed Philippe, watching as he climbed the stairs. She had wanted to follow him, to offer what little comfort she could to him and to Christine but there was something about the set of Philippe's shoulders, his previous tone of voice, that stayed Monique. Instead, she had moved to the front of the house, walking out onto the long portico, seeking relief in the air of a late spring afternoon. She had stood on the flagstone of the portico, thin hands pulling at the high collar of her dress as the oppressive humidity began to wrap around her.

"God," Monique prayed as she raised moist eyes to the sky, "please ..." Her prayer was interrupted by the explosion that echoed across countryside. Now she waited on the first landing of the stone stairs that led to the front door of Chagny, her ears hearing something beyond the echoing thumps from the distant mountains. Her eyes scanned the long drive, relief crossing her face and flooding her veins as a coach approached. Monique ran down the remaining stairs, waiting anxiously as the coach slowed before her.

The coach door opened and Xavier stepped out to find his wife flinging herself into his arms. "My dear," he said, a bit stunned. Arthur and Chief Inspector Pichette also exited from the coach, the other officer remaining inside with the ransom money. "What is it?" Xavier whispered as he rubbed her back.

Monique drew back from the embrace, a hand going to her husband's cheek. "I am so glad you have returned."

"What has happened?" Arthur wondered; he could feel strange currents swirling on the atmosphere surrounding the estate.

Monique was startled by Arthur's voice and turned to him. "I am sorry," she told him. "I had forgotten you went with Xavier."

"My dear," Xavier began again and turned to the chief inspector. "This is Chief Inspector Robert Pichette from Lyon. He and two of his best officers accompanied the ransom."

"Madame de la Censiere," Pichette nodded to Monique.

"We had another note," Monique began and the men around her grew quiet. "They have told where they wish us to leave the ransom money."

"What else?" Xavier wondered and flinched as the color drained from his wife's face. "Monique," he tried again. "What have they done?"

Monique closed her eyes in pain. "Fingernails," she whispered and heard the sharp intake of breath from the men into whose faces she stared upon opening her eyes. She grabbed onto her husband's lapels for support, fixing her gaze onto his. "They sent us some of his fingernails," she whispered, the horror in her voice evident in the faces of those about her.


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter Summary:** Erik and Tallis continue to struggle with their growing romance. And wagon load of mysterious cargo is delivered to Louis.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

"Are you sure you do not mind?" Erik worried.

Tallis stopped in her tracks and turned to look at the man standing behind her, a huge smile on her face. "Have I said that I mind? Have you not asked me the same question at least a hundred times in the last few moments?" Her smile grew soft as she noted the concerned look on Erik's face. Tallis walked back a few paces and took Erik's hand in her own, lowering her eyes. "People will think me bold for taking a man's hand." She raised her eyes to look at Erik, her little nose going defiantly up in the air. "But I do not care what they think of me when I am with you."

Erik shook his head, unable to contain the grin forming on his lips. "You are a saucy little miss," he told her and squeezed her hand, growing serious. "You may regret those words one day."

Now it was Tallis' turn to be concerned. "What words?"

"What people think of you when you are with me," Erik reminded her and was rather startled by the silver fire that flashed in Tallis' grey eyes.

"Bah!" Tallis took her hand back and crossed her arms over her chest.

Erik burst out laughing.

"What?" Tallis wondered.

Erik could not stop laughing and placed a hand to the stitch that was beginning in his side.

"What!" Tallis exclaimed in exasperation.

Erik found he could not catch his breath.

Tallis stared wide-eyed at him for a moment before flinging her hands in the air. "Impossible," she said as she turned on her heel. "You are just … impossible!" Tallis screamed the word back over her shoulder as she quickly walked toward the woods at the edge of Madame Giry's property, skirts flouncing about her ankles.

Erik watched her go and bent over, holding out a hand to the woman quickly distancing herself from him. "Tallis," he called and she did not stop. "Please!"

There was something in the tone of voice calling out to her that made Tallis stop in her angry stride to turn around. "Erik," she breathed, a hand going to her mouth, as she saw Erik bent over, hands on his knees. Tallis gathered her skirts in her hands and quickly ran back to the man in distress. She stopped by his side, a hand going to rest lightly on his shoulder. "Erik?" she wondered. Tallis bent over trying to see her companion's face. "Erik?" she tried again and suddenly found herself caught up in two strong arms, whirled around, set down and firmly kissed. Erik's actions caught her off guard. "You," Tallis whispered as she tried to catch her breath, unable to find the right word to express her feelings.

Erik continued to laugh. "Are you not the one who stated that I needed to learn to play?" His laughter began to die down but the smile remained on his lips as he again drew Tallis into his embrace. "I am just playing."

Tallis frowned at him. "That was not funny!" she scolded him. "I thought something was wrong with you."

Erik kissed her again. "And I thought something was wrong with you that afternoon in the garden when you played the same trick upon me," he breathed into her ear.

Tallis squirmed in his arms, a small hand hitting Erik on the shoulder. "You are such a beast!" the words slipped from Tallis' lips before she could think upon what she said.

Dangerous fire glowed in Erik's eyes and he tightened his grip on the woman in his arms. "Beauty should never confront the beast," he snarled at Tallis.

They stared at each for a long moment, chests heaving from physical and emotional exertion, before Tallis raised both hands to cup Erik's face in them. She lowered his head, reaching for his lips, kissing him soundly before laying her head in the crook of his neck. "But I love the beast," she sighed.

Erik turned his head so that he could bury his face in soft hair that smelled of warm sunshine. "Beauty walks upon dangerous ground," he whispered back.

"Her choice."

"My saving grace."

Erik and Tallis stood for long minutes in each other's arms, silent, content, before Erik broke the embrace, taking Tallis by the hand and leading her to a wrought iron bench beneath the shade of an oak tree. They sat down, Erik still holding onto the small hand in his own, unwilling to look at the woman sitting next to him. "You never did answer my question," he said softly.

"What question?" Tallis found she could barely remember anything beyond the feel of Erik's lips against her own.

"Whether or not you minded that I cannot court you in a manner that is expected by Society? That we must stay to these grounds, this house?" Erik shook his head. "I worry that it is not enough for you. I worry that you will find another who will come to you with clean hands and an open heart, able to give you the world without fear and anger nipping at his heels."

Tallis watched as memories caused Erik to set his lips into a tight line. She placed her free hand over the one that held so tightly to her other hand. "I do not mind for I do not want anyone else. I do not want some boy." She shook her head at Erik as he raised his own. "I want you." Tallis sighed and gave Erik a small smile. "I know that you are not like other people. I know that this courtship will not be like other courtships. I know that our behavior can be considered quite scandalous but we are not like other people."

"I am not like other people," Erik reminded her, a hand going to lightly caress Tallis' cheek. "You are other people." He steeled his resolve as Tallis melted into his touch. "You are everything that is good about the world and someday you will find another who is also good and you will go with him, leaving me to wallow in my despair and darkness."

Tallis sat up, drawing away from his touch, taking back her hands, anger evident in her pursed lips. "I am not Christine!" she spat, crossing her arms over her chest as Erik tried reaching for her. "If you think I am like she was, then you do not know me at all." Tallis' bottom lip trembled. "And this was all a huge mistake." She turned her head. "Perhaps, I should just go back to my parents and be the dutiful daughter." Tallis felt strong hands grip her upper arms, turning her whole body. "You are hurting me!" she told Erik, frightened by the darkness she saw in his visage.

"I am going to do a good deal more than hurt you, Mademoiselle," Erik said between clenched teeth.

"Let me go!" Now Tallis was angry and it infuriated Erik

"I will let you go when I am ready to let you go and not a moment before!" Erik shook the woman he held so tightly. "You are going to sit here in silence and listen to every word I am going to say to you."

"I cannot go anywhere while you hold me against my will," Tallis shot back.

Erik stood, dragging Tallis up with him. "Do you think I care?" He shook her again. "Do you?"

Tallis stuck her chin out, refusing to show any further weakness. "I think you care more than you wish to admit!"

"How dare you presume to know what I care about?"

"I dare because I love you," Tallis answered back.

"You are a fool!"

"I dare because I thought you loved me and **_that_** makes you a fool, as well!" Tallis shot back at Erik with his own words.

Erik leaned toward her, still gripping her arms in his strong hands. "Such words deserve correction." He let go of one arm and slowly raised his hand.

"Hit me," Tallis dared him. "Go ahead and hit me." She glared at him, hurt evident in grey eyes that glistened with unshed tears. "It has been done before," she finished softly.

The softly spoken words cut through the darkness that had wrapped itself around Erik, pulling him back to the lair and wrapping him in a jealous possessiveness. A small part of Erik's mind recognized what was happening. It also recognized that the jealousy felt was not about himself but for the woman in his arms; yet that small spark of knowing humanity could not stop the greater man still haunted by personal demons. "Who did that to you?" Erik snarled softly.

Tallis dug her heels in and stuck out her lower lip, refusing to answer.

"WHO!" Erik shouted; there was still no answer and he shook Tallis again. "Tell me who!" he demanded.

"A beast," Tallis answered softly, turning her head to the side. Turning away from Erik.

Her words instantly deflated the angry monster inside the beast and Erik released his grip, hanging his head. "My saving grace," he whispered, turning his back on Tallis. "Gone again."

Tallis rubbed at her arms, knowing they would be bruised in the morning. She studied Erik and loudly sniffled back her tears, the noise of an unspoiled child causing Erik to raise his head. "True grace," Tallis began as she took Erik lightly by the arms and turned him to face her, "never leaves," she finished with a slight smile. "And while I am hurt and angry," Tallis took Erik's hands, "I am not leaving."

Erik, unable to find the words, gently squeezed the hands holding to his and allowed Tallis to lead him back to the bench under the tree.

"Did she hurt you so much?" Tallis wondered.

Erik could only nod.

"And do you still love her that much?"

"If I did?" Erik could not meet the eyes of the woman next to him.

"I would be terribly angry with her," Tallis said honestly, "and I would pity you."

Her words caused Erik to finally raise his head to look at her. "I do not want your pity," he said with a shake of his head.

"Do not be so ... so ..." Tallis struggled to find the correct word. "Oh ... bah!" she said.

Erik laughed and Tallis was startled. He heaved a great sigh, still holding to the small hands of his companion. "Do you not realize that word is what started this whole episode?" He watched as Tallis' brow furrowed in confusion and touched it lightly, smoothing out the frown. "You do not want to wrinkle that lovely face," he told her. "Do you know you sound just like Antoinette when you say 'bah'?" he asked her.

"No," Tallis breathed. "Do I?"

"The two women in my life who have been able to see the man beyond the horror both prefer to say 'bah' to express their disappointment in me," Erik said in a strangely gentle tone of voice. "It is very unladylike," Erik continued and watched the expression change on Tallis' face. "But very endearing," he finished.

"Does that mean it is proper?" Tallis worried.

"It is proper and sweet and I have never heard such love expressed through a simple exclamation."

They stared at each other, words of apology and affection spoken louder by a mere look than any words could ever express.

"I am sorry I am such a beast," Erik said softly and sighed. "I am sorry that you were ever hurt and I am so sorry that I would even think to hurt you."

"Thank you," Tallis told him, unwilling to take back the hands to which Erik still clung. "I know you would never hurt me."

"Then you know more than I," Erik replied.

"I love you," Tallis said simply.

"Beauty and the beast," Erik breathed.

"I have seen a real beast," Tallis told him, keeping her eyes locked onto Erik's. "It was shortly before I came to live with Madame," she went on. "He was a groomsman from one of the other estates and he had grand ideas for his life and wished me to be a part of them." Tallis smiled slightly but it quickly disappeared. "I could have been happy with him and his dreams, if I did not have dreams of my own. He could not understand that and he tried to persuade me otherwise. That is when he struck me and that is when my parents sought a way to remove me from his influence."

"Parents who love you," Erik breathed. "You are truly blessed." He turned his gaze toward the woods almost as if he could find answers within the moving shadows. "But if I were to ever come across the beast who dared to strike you..." he shook his head.

"And if I ever come across Christine ..." Tallis echoed Erik's dark tone of voice and he turned to look at her. "I hate her for what she did to you." And her tone and expression changed, softened. "And I feel sorry for her, for what she threw away." Tallis finally took back one of her hands and palmed Erik's malformed cheek. "She will never know the beauty in the darkness, the man in the phantom."

Erik fought down the urge to grab Tallis and run away with her for such actions only led to disaster. "I think she did know," Erik finally admitted, remembering the girl who came back to place her ring in his hand. "I think she finally knew." Erik closed his eyes and swallowed down the emotions that Christine always stirred within him.

"I do pity you," Tallis told him, placing a finger over his lips as Erik opened his eyes. "But mercy follows quickly upon pity. I pity you for all you have never known. I pity you for all the horrors you had to endure. I pity you for the betrayals you suffered at the hands of those whom you have loved." She sighed and smiled. "Yet I know that God has been merciful to you."

"Where?" Erik asked, his voice tinged with bitterness.

"In all the gifts you have been given," Tallis told him, amazed that he could not see what she did. "You can do so much! I have never met a man who can write music and draw pictures and dance and ..." She shook her head in amazement. "I never have!" she assured him. "That the world cannot see what I see is something for which they must be pitied." The look of amazement on Tallis' face softened into something that Erik had only seen on the faces of angels painted on darkened walls. "That I have been fortunate enough to see it is the mercy Heaven rained down upon me."

"You are the rain of mercy," Erik told Tallis as he hugged her close. "My beloved saving grace."

Tallis smiled and bit her lip, grateful that Erik could not see the pain in her eyes; as she rested her head on his shoulder. She knew he still loved Christine and until he could let go of her and his past, Erik would never truly be hers. "I will always be here to save you," Tallis whispered in his ear as she broke the embrace.

"Why could I not have met you sooner?" Erik wondered softly.

Tallis shrugged. "I know you do not believe in God," she said, "but He is a part of my life and has been since I was a small child." She smiled. "We peasants have always clung to our faith. I believe that God puts us where we are needed when we are needed. You need me and here I am."

"You are a lady in every sense of the word; more so than one born to the title," Erik replied and shook his head. "I have my doubts about the loving God in whom you believe but I am willing to learn if you are willing to teach."

"We shall teach each other, I believe," Tallis said and paused for a moment, biting the inside of her bottom lip. "What of Christine?"

"She is just a memory," Erik said as he turned his head.

"Is she?" Tallis asked. "Truly?"

Erik found he had no wish to lie to the woman who was the beauty in his darkness. "No," Erik answered knowing his words would break Tallis' heart; he turned back to her. "I will not lie to you; Christine still lives within my heart." He watched as Tallis quickly composed her features, a small tight smile on her lips. "She lives there because I have not yet learned how to let her go," Erik explained and was forced to admit something he had only thought of in dark moments. "I am afraid to let her go for then I have no reason to not look forward and the future scares me." He raised one of Tallis' hands to his lips. "I would rather wallow in the comforting darkness of the past than face the light and possibilities of what tomorrow may bring."

"Am I so frightening?" Tallis asked, her voice like that of a lost child.

"You, my dear, are the only thing that does not scare me," Erik said, drawing Tallis through his eyes and into his soul with no coercion, no effort. "You and the promise you present are the courage I use to face each new day."

"I am?"

Erik leaned forward. "More than you will ever know," he whispered as he sought and found her lips.

"I do love you," Tallis whispered against Erik's lips even as she knew he was not yet strong enough to say the same words back to her. She could wait, though; she was not going anywhere.

And in the woods two days ride from the city of Lyon, a man waited impatiently. He was dressed in dark clothing that blended into the shadows of the deep woods. The fingers of his hands wiggled about, yearning for a cigarette, a cigar, a pipe, anything to fill their emptiness and occupy his time. The ground underfoot was marked with odd patterns ground into the dirt and debris by the toes of boots that covered feet that itched with nervous anticipation. He did not have a watch at which to glance and it would have done him no good for the sun had a difficult time penetrating the canopy of pine, chestnut and oak despite the summer solstice being only a day away. The man was about to beging pacing when an unusual sound cut through the woods and he moved from beneath the trees and onto the forgotten pony track.

"I knew you would be here," the elegantly dressed man sitting atop the old wagon said.

"You are paying me well to be where you wish me to be."

"You were the right choice for this task, Louis," the man smiled at him and hopped off the wagon. "How is our mutual friend?"

Louis shook his head. "Not good."

A dark look crossed the man's face. "He is still alive?"

"Aye," Louis replied. "We are doing as instructed and keeping him alive but ..."

"It is Nico, yes?" the other man interrupted and watched as Louis nodded. "I have given him free rein to do as he wills," the man reminded Louis and held up a hand. "As long as he does not kill him." A strange smile crossed his face. "Come and see what I have brought you." The man began to move to the back of the covered wagon, trusting Louis to follow. He waited until Louis had reached his side before lifting back the canvas cover.

"Incredible," Louis breathed as he raised an eyebrow at the sight that greeted him.

"Enough?" the man wondered.

"Aye," Louis said and looked to two small boxes. "The rest of the equipment?"

The man nodded. "Yes," he replied. "I have heard it is best to keep everything separated until it is time for them to be used." A look of concern crossed his face. "Francois does know how to assembly and use this?"

"He knows," Louis said as he turned to look at the man next to him. "I am not happy about Edouard, though."

"I am not paying you to be happy," the man reminded Louis. "I am paying you to keep our guest alive and miserable. As for Edouard," he shrugged. "You knew what was expected of him when this started."

"But he did not."

The man grabbed Louis by the shirt front and pulled him close. "It is too late for that now," he snarled and let Louis go, his mood quickly changing. He smiled at Louis and smoothed his wrinkled shirt. "Everything is in place and we must follow through. Edouard has his part to play as do we all." He patted Louis on the chest before withdrawing his hands. "Can you manage to get the pony and wagon back to the cottage?"

"I've transported things like this before; I can do it in my sleep," Louis assured him.

"Fine," the other man nodded. "Good man. I have always thought you were a good man." He turned and untied the expensive stallion that had been tied to the back of the wagon. "I must be getting back or I will be missed." He put a foot in a stirrup and paused. "You know the timetable."

"I know." Louis was getting tired of the man's constant doubts. "Everything will be done as you ordered."

The man smiled and lifted himself into the saddle, taking the reins of his mount into his hands. "Till tomorrow," he said as he turned the horse around and disappeared into the woods.

Louis walked back to the front of the wagon and climbed aboard. "Damn fool idiot," he muttered as he picked up the reins and tapped them lightly against the pony's back, guiding the wagon and its cargo into the woods, toward the cottage and into the plans of a man possessed by a madness that would frighten even Nico.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter Summary: **Succumbing to pain and despair, Raoul makes a request. A ransom is delivered. The location where Raoul is held is revealed and lives will be changed. Forever ...

**_Author's Warning:_** I am issuing **SERIOUS AND I MEAN IT **_"Shock factor"_ and _"Tissues handy"_ warnings for this chapter. Secondly, this is a very long chapter but there was no way to break it into two smaller chapters without losing the emotional impact.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

He was dreaming. Pleasant dreams of worlds gone by. Dreams of warm sunshine reflecting off waves that sounded like horses hooves. He heard a fairy child calling on the wind and ran over glittering diamonds and into the path of the stampeding horses to save her magical wrap. He dreamed of searching for the fairy child throughout long years spent in cold houses where ancient men rattled on and on about useless facts that did nothing to help him find her. He dreamed of returning to the diamond beach only to find that the fairy child had grown, turning from the human, knowing they were not strong enough to bridge the gap between their worlds. He had left the fairy child taking only fading memories left to comfort him as he grew into aa adult who was told to leave behind dreams of childhood.

But the fairy child was not easily forgotten.

He dreamed of the night he had found her again. A night of swirling colors, laughter and music that drifted along on currents created by glowing candles. In the midst of that - like a dream within a dream - he had seen her again, the fairy child. She was standing amidst the soft glow, wrapped in the music, brighter and more beautiful than he could remember. He had sought her out, praying she would remember him and found her with memories as fond as the ones he carried. He dreamed of holding her in crystal snow that was warm and magical, as they finally discovered a way to bridge the gap between their worlds.. He dreamed of dancing in her arms, gossamer wings fluttering about them. And always in the dreams, hovering in the background, was the shadow. The shadow who threatened to destroy the bridge they were building and take the fairy child away forever.

He dreamed of the night the shadow struck. He dreamed of red flames and gold flashes and acrid smoke. He dreamed of the stars falling from the sky as his fairy child was dragged into the underworld. He dreamed of fighting his way through dangers untold, monsters nipping at head and heels, as he sought out his fairy child. He had found her trapped in the shadow's lair, tossed and tumbled, calling for him. He dreamed of reaching deep within himself, crossing the threshold of danger, braving the shadow in his lair. He dreamed of the shadow's approach, the threat he willingly took upon himself to save his beloved fairy child. He dreamed of the shadow, of the pain as the shadow slowly began to wrap about him ...

Pain. There was nothing but pain. Pain that began at broken toes and worked its way up legs numb from disuse, bruise lining calves and thighs. It flowed outward from the wound stretching across an abdomen and mingling with the pain from bruised ribs. It moved down cold arms and into the heat radiating from infection beginning in barely tended knife wounds. It moved upwards through the tingling cut just beneath the collar bone and into the bruised jaw and blackened, swollen eye before it ended in pounding that encompassed the whole scalp, seeping into the mind beneath, merging with emotional pain to create a new world. It was a world of darkness and despair and pain with no fairy child light the way, to take his hands and guide him back to the bridge between their worlds.

"Christine," Raoul breathed, a sob in his voice.

"What was that?" a voice asked from the distance.

Raoul struggled to open his eyes, finding the light of a new day too painful to look upon for long. He narrowed his eyes, gazing at a man kneeling in front of him. Blurred vision did not allow him to see the man clearly but Raoul could feel the man's touch on raw fingertips that burned with every pulse of life's blood. "No more," Raoul pleaded, his voice a trembling whisper.

Edouard stared at the bound man before him and felt something stir within his soul. He had agreed to the taking of a person for ransom; it was something that had always been done. He had not bargained for the abuse that had been inflicted upon their hostage; Edouard was different from the men with which he associated. He had been raised on land that had been payment for silence regarding the parentage of a young woman's child. He had been taught to honor his parents, fear his God and to treat others as he wished to be treated. The teachings of his parents lasted as long as Edouard had lived under their roof. Upon answering the call of the wider world, Edouard had quickly fallen in with men who would surely have earned the disapproval of his family; yet he had always tried to maintain some of the teachings from his youth. Now to see another human so battered and broken made him begin to question his associations, his life. Edouard wondered what his family would think were he to appear on their doorstep and shook those thoughts from his mind, turning his attention back to the task at hand.

"It is just a simple bandage," Edouard told Raoul as he lifted the hand he held so that Raoul could understand why additional pain was being inflicted upon a body already wracked by more pain than many would know in a lifetime.

Raoul swallowed and closed his eyes briefly. "I am not leaving here," he stated as he opened his eyes.

Edouard shook his head. "Of course, you are. They are going to collect the ransom today. You will be home by tonight."

"No," Raoul insisted. "I will never see home again." He clasped the hand that held his own, ignoring the bright flashes of pain that danced before his eyes. "You must do me a favor."

Edouard was puzzled. "What?"

"Tell my wife," Raoul paused as he bit back the tears that wanted to start. "Find Christine and tell her I am sorry. Tell her I did not mean what I said. Tell her I have loved her since Perros and I will always love her."

"But ..." Edouard tried.

"Tell her!" Raoul's tone was suddenly strong and insistent. "You must tell her!"

Edouard nodded. "I will tell her," he tried appeasing Raoul.

"You must tell her one last thing." Raoul raised his eyes to the ceiling, letting his tears flow freely. "Tell her to find her angel. Tell her to go to him."

Angel? Edouard's brow furrowed in confusion but he replied softly, "I will.".

Raoul felt his heart shatter into a million pieces. "Thank you," he breathed, his eyes closing. "Christine," he sighed, the emotional effort expended pulling him back into the welcoming darkness.

Edouard gently released Raoul's hand and stood. He stared down at the unconscious man for a long moment, thinking about the words he had said, the request he had made. Edouard shook his head and wondered how this man ever thought he would be able to find his wife, let alone get close enough to relay his words. Edouard shrugged as he turned around, walking from the room and knowing that it was no longer his responsibility; the man would be home that evening, able to speak to this wife who occupied his every waking moment.

"Is he still with us?" Francois asked.

"He is unconscious again," Edouard told him and nodded at the roll that Francois was pulling from a small wooden box. "What is that for?"

"I have no idea," Francois lied. "I was told to bring the box into the cottage and unpack it." He kept a straight face as he looked at Edward. "I was told that you are needed outside. They want you to help get the pony cart prepared."

"As they wish," Edouard replied and moved toward the door. He stopped as Francois laid a hand on his arm. Edouard looked at him curiously.

"I am sorry I ever got you into this," Francois said.

Edouard nodded. "I could have said no." He clasped Francois warmly on the arm. "The money will be worth it in the end."

Francois could only nod and watch Edouard as he walked through the door to the cottage and into the bright sunshine of the first day of summer.

The same bright sunshine streamed in through the windows of the large front parlor at Chagny, illuminating a room decorated in shades of rose. The sun was warm as it continued the long climb to its zenith but was unable to warm the bodies and souls of those who stood and sat in that parlor. Rays of light upon which danced tiny specks of dust could not pierce the fear and tension that held sway over the grand estate and all those within its walls.

"I do not like this at all," Philippe said between clenched teeth as he stared at Arthur. "This could be just another of their cruel tricks." He shook his head once. "I cannot take anymore of their cruelty."

"Can Raoul?" Arthur wondered, watching as Philippe turned from him. "You have to be realistic, Philippe; they wish me to deliver the money and I intend to do as they ask." Arthur set his shoulders when there was no response from Philippe. "I am going and you can do nothing to stop me."

"And he shall have one of my men ride along as escort," Chief Inspector Pichette reminded Philippe. "Their letter stated two men, one of whom was to be Monsieur Weldon and the other a man of his choosing."

"But what happens if they know that the man with Arthur is an officer?" Henri asked, sober for the first time in days and frightened nearly beyond reason.

"We will not try anything foolish." Arthur glared at Henri who backed down in the face of such strength of emotion. "We shall follow their directions implicitly; we shall deliver the money and go to the place where they will have left the instructions on how to find Raoul."

"Are you sure it is wise for all of us to wait at the crossroads to the village?" Xavier asked. "Perhaps that is what they are seeking – a way to separate us, a chance to collect the money, kill Arthur and none of us shall ever be the wiser."

"Oh dear," Monique breathed as she looked up at her husband from where she was seated. Her eyes traveled from Xavier to the woman who stood by the window staring into the outside world.

"Christine? Do you wish to say anything?"

Christine looked briefly over her shoulder. "I want my husband back," came the softly spoken words before Christine turned back to the window.

"I will bring him back for you," Arthur said.

"We all will," Philippe interrupted. He ran a hand through his hair. "I am sorry. Over these last two weeks I have lost the ability to think clearly." He nodded at Arthur. "And the possibility of another person I care for in danger is something that does not bear thinking upon." He reached down to pick up the riding gloves that rested over the back of a wing chair before walking the few paces to Christine. He placed gentle hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him. "I will bring him back for us." Philippe gave her a small smile. "For you."

"I know," Christine told him, closing her eyes as she blinked back tears. "I know."

Philippe gave a quick squeeze to the shoulders he held and turned back to the room. "Let us go."

Chief Inspector Pichette looked to the man in casual clothes standing by the door. "You know what to do," he stated.

"Yes, Chief Inspector," the man nodded.

"Watches, gentlemen," Pichette said as he pulled his from its pocket. He flipped open the cover and looked at if for a moment. "It is now 10:05." The watch cover was snapped shut as Pichette raised his head. "Monsieur Weldon has two hours to deliver the ransom to the designated spot. We shall accompany him as far as the crossroads and wait for another two hours. If he does not return by that time, we shall go after him and the officers waiting in reserve shall be summoned. They will fan out and cover and recover every inch of this valley until Monsieur le Vicomte is found."

"Four hours," Christine whispered to herself. "Eighteen months. Time is such a funny thing." She looked down. "Seven months. A lifetime."

No one in the room heard her whispered words.

Xavier leaned over and kissed his wife, surprised when she grabbed onto his lapels. "Monique?"

"Be careful!" she urged him. "Please be careful." Monique let go of her husband's lapels and stood, looking about the room, briefly locking eyes with Philippe. "All of you. Please be careful and bring Raoul back."

"It is a promise," Xavier said and turned to Philippe, clasping him on the shoulder. "Let us waste no more time," he addressed Pichette.

"Agreed," Pichette replied.

The men moved toward the double doors of the parlor where Didier waited. He opened the doors for them, watching with longing as everyone left the room. He felt a hand on his arm and looked to see his uncle staring at him. "What is it?"

"I know you wish to go," Xavier began softly watching as Didier lowered his eyes. "But I need you here with your aunt and Christine. Henri – while sober – is still of little to no use and someone must support the ladies. I am trusting them to you." Xavier grew somber. "Do not fail me."

Didier raised his eyes and squared his shoulders. "I shall not fail you, Uncle."

Xavier nodded, a tight smile on his lips. "I know," he said and was gone.

"Please," the prayer issued forth from Christine's lips, as the sound of hooves on the drive crept in through open windows.

The sound of hooves also crept through the windows of the cottage in the woods as the sturdy pony hitched to the cart pawed at the ground beneath its feet. At the sound of a door opening, Louis looked up from where he was checking the harnesses that attached pony to cart. He watched as Francois pulled a long roll of thin material through the door.

"You do know what you are doing?" Louis asked and not for the first time.

"Yes," Francois replied in a slightly irritated tone of voice. "You just get on the cart and follow me and be prepared to move." He frowned. "I do not like what I had to do."

Louis shrugged. "The money will compensate you."

Francois continued to unroll what he held in his hands. "Not enough," he muttered and looked at Louis as he mounted the cart, taking the reins into his hands. "Not nearly enough."

Louis watched as Francois and his roll moved through the clearing, heading for the woods. He turned around, speaking through the canvas cover over the cart. "Ready?"

"Aye," came Nico's giddy reply.

Louis shook his head as he turned back to the front of the cart. "God help us all," he whispered and tapped the reins on the pony's back, leading the cart toward where Francois waited in the distance.

Philippe, too, watched the distance, seeing two riders recede into it, the figures growing smaller and smaller, finally vanishing into the horizon. He turned to the group of men gathered around him. "I am not comfortable with any of this," he told them.

"My man is well trained," Pichette said as he drew himself up, taking pride in the officer who had ridden away with Arthur.

Xavier shook his head. "He meant no disrespect."

"I did not," Philippe added, sighing wearily. "I am just ... I am frightened for my brother and worried for my friend. I cannot bear to think upon the losses that ..." Philippe closed his eyes, unable to continue. He felt a strong grip on his arm and knew to whom it belonged, grateful for the friendship of a lifetime.

"You are tired," Xavier began, "and certainly far beyond tired." He turned to Pichette. "All of us understand that," he said pointedly.

"Certainly," Pichette acquiesced.

Philippe opened his eyes and looked at the Chief Inspector. "I promise I will not cause you any difficulty. You tell me what to do and what you need of me and I shall follow your instructions without question." He sighed. "I am grateful you allowed me to come with you."

Pichette managed a smile. "If you do as I say, we shall most certainly have your family complete and reunited by this evening." He looked up at the sun. "Now I suggest we seek shelter under the trees while we wait."

The sound of an explosion echoing across the valley startled men and horses. Philippe turned an angry gaze upon Xavier. "That damn mine of yours shall be the death of me!"

Xavier glared in the direction of the mountains. "Two times in one week," he muttered. "I shall most definitely have to speak with the managers." He turned to Philippe and held out his hands, shrugging his shoulders. "I am sorry."

Philippe could only nod as his heart raced in his chest, taking his breath away.

Pichette looked at the watch he held in his hand. "We should be joined by the local gendarmes shortly." He led his horse into the shadows of some nearby trees and trusted the others to follow.

Over an hour later two other riders also guided their horses through the shaded coolness beneath a thick canopy of trees. The woods surrounding them were ancient, shadows cast by tall trees long and somehow sinister. Strange noises assailed their ears, making their eyes dart back and forth, sending chills up their spines already tensed in nervous anticipation. They stopped their horses as the lead rider held up his hand.

"Do you have any idea where we go now, Guy?" Arthur wondered as he turned to the man who stopped next to him.

Guy Rousseau unfolded the paper held between gloved hands, turning it, trying to capture a ray of light in which to read the words written upon it. He lifted the paper higher, frowning as he tried to read in the darkness of the wood. "It is not much further," he finally stated, lowering the paper and nodding off into the deeper wood. "I think we must go into in that direction until we come across a mound of stones."

"You need go no further," a voice called forth from the surrounding shadows.

Arthur and Guy both tightened their grips on individual reins.

"Who are you?" Arthur called back, a slight tinge of anger coloring his tone. "Where are you? Show yourself!"

Guy placed a hand on Arthur's knee and shook his head as a shot rang out.

"We are everywhere," another voice called. "Try anything and you shall never leave this place alive."

"Drop the money on the ground," a third voice called.

Arthur gritted his teeth but did as he was told, detaching the bags attached to his saddle. He waited in silence as Guy did the same.

"Such good boys," a decidedly nasty voice taunted them.

"Where is the Vicomte?" Arthur demanded, his voice rising. "What have you done with him?"

"Whatever I wanted," a voice chortled in the darkness.

"Monsieur Weldon," Guy tried again.

Another shot rang out. "Listen to your companion." Silence descended. "You will walk your horses from this place and not look back. If you do, your precious Vicomte will be dead before you will ever find him."

"How will we find him?" Guy called back.

"When you reach the edge of the woods, you will find a note pinned to a burned out oak tree. In that note are the instructions on how to find your Vicomte." Another shot rang out. "Now go!" came the shouted order.

Arthur and Guy carefully turned their mounts, their eyes never leaving the shadows surrounding them. They walked their horses through the wood in silence, their breathing rapid as they anticipated a shot that would not be fired into the air. Sensing the nerves of the men atop them, the horses snorted and danced, unhappy at the control being exerted upon them. The nerves of both men and beasts did not ease as they emerged from the shadows and into the midday heat, pausing in the open, at the edge of a road.

"Where is it?" Guy wondered as his eyes searched the surrounding countryside.

Arthur, too, searched and let out a cry of discovery. "There!" he shouted and galloped across the road and into an open field, heading for a tree that was no more than a hollow trunk. He jumped from his horse and ran to retrieve a long paper nailed to the tree.

Guy had followed him, pulling up as Arthur read the paper he now held in his hands. Guy noted the strange look on his face. "I will need to see that," the officer told Arthur.

"I know where this is," Arthur breathed and raised his head to look at Guy. "I know where this is!"

"Where is it?" Henri wondered as he rummaged through the drawers of an desk in one of the parlors. "Where is it?" He looked up as the door opened, pausing in his search as he saw Christine enter the room.

"No," Christine breathed as she saw Henri and turned for the door. She would not make it.

Henri sprinted across the room and slammed the door shut, turning around and placing his back against it. He watched as Christine shrunk away from him.

"Please do not," she pleaded.

"I ... I ..." Henri began and drew a breath before continuing. "I only wish to apologize for my recent behavior." He hung his head, lowering his eyelids. "I have been a beast and it was wrong of me to take advantage of the perceived trouble between you and my cousin." Henri heaved a great sigh. "I only hope that in time you will be able to forgive me."

Christine eyed him warily. "You are forgiven and we shall speak no more of it," she told him, only wishing for him to move so that she could escape.

Henri did move away from the door, opening it. "Thank you, cousin," he said politely as his lowered eyes watched Christine leave as quickly as she had come. He closed the door behind her and lifted his head, an amused gleam in his eyes. "That should take care of that," he said and returned to the desk, searching for access to the liquor cabinet. "Where is that damn key!"

As Christine heard the door close behind her, she placed a hand over her mouth and bent slightly forward, feeling a familiar nausea take hold. Her eyes darted about the long hall, seeking a door to the outside world or a basin. "Oh God," Christine breathed as she saw nothing. She stumbled to a nearby chair and lowered her head to her knees, waiting for the dizziness to pass. It was something she had been taught to do when first learning to pirouette and it had always eased the spinning room and the roiling stomach.

"Are you all right?" a quiet male voice asked and Christine felt a tentative hand on her shoulder.

"A moment," she breathed back, keeping her head down as she felt the nausea begin to ease. Slowly Christine lifted her head and found Didier staring down at her, concern on his handsome face. "I was just dizzy," Christine told him, fighting down the urge to shake her head, knowing it would only make things worse. "This is all just too ..." her voice broke.

Didier took one of her hands and covered it with his own. "I am so sorry." He tried giving Christine a small smile. "It should be over shortly, though; and then you will have Raoul back and you can begin to make this a very unpleasant and – hopefully – distant memory."

Christine sniffled back her tears. "Do you truly believe so?"

"Absolutely." The young man was emphatic. "And you must, as well." He reached for Christine's other hand, drawing her to her feet. "Come," he said, looking slightly ill-at-ease, "I believe my aunt will be of more comfort than I could ever hope to be."

"Do not think so poorly of yourself," Christine told him as she squeezed his hands. "You have been a comfort."

Didier smiled at her as he took her arm and led her into the huge front parlor. He watched as Christine's eyes darted to the mantle clock before turning towards his aunt who had risen to her feet.

"It has been almost six hours! How much longer?" Christine asked, the tears threatening to come again. "I cannot stand this waiting!"

Monique quickly crossed the room to take Christine in her arms. "Not much longer," she tried assuring Christine and herself. "It cannot be much longer," she said as worried eyes locked with her nephew's, seeing the same look in Didier's eyes.

And in the woods some distance from Chagny other eyes wore a worried look as they surveyed the scene before them.

"Oh no," Xavier breathed and turned to Chief Inspector Pichette. "You must send someone back to Monsieur le Comte. Tell them to make sure he does not see this."

Pichette's expression was grim and drawn. "I agree," he replied, signaling to one of the gendarmes who stood nearby. "Go back to the riders and tell them to wait where they are. They are not to approach this area. Am I understood?"

"Yes, Chief Inspector," the man replied and moved quickly into the woods beyond the clearing where Philippe waited with Arthur and the other gendarmes, a coach nearby for Raoul.

"Where do we begin?" Xavier wondered.

"We do not," Pichette replied. "This is not a job for a civilian." He motioned to his men. "You know what to do." He watched as the gathered gendarmes began to fan out, searching the debris underfoot. Pichette grabbed Xavier's arm as he felt the man next to him take a step forward. "You do not wish to see this," he said simply.

"He is my friend," Xavier said between clenched teeth.

What Pichette might have told Xavier was cut short by the sound of one of his men calling to him. "Chief Inspector!"

Pichette quickly and carefully moved through the debris field and stopped by his officer. He looked at the man's pale countenance and followed his gaze to what lay underfoot.

"Oh dear God," Pichette heard the horrified whisper and turned to see Xavier behind him, his normally ruddy pallor turning gray.

"I thought I told you to stay back there!" Pichette was angry.

"I ... I ..." Xavier turned his head away.

Pichette bent over and retrieved something from the ground, wiping it on the corner of his jacket. He touched Xavier on the arm. "You may wish to give this to Monsieur le Comte," he said simply and placed something into Xavier's hand.

Xavier stared at the object for a long moment, a strange look on his face, before closing his fist around it and nodding; he did not trust his voice.

"We shall need to stay here and secure the area." Pichette told him. "I shall send an officer back with you and one to the village requesting ..."

"Please do not say it," Xavier asked softly. He turned to Pichette. "Please."

Pichette nodded and watched as Xavier stood silently, straightening his spine, and gathering his courage. He shook his head and watched as the man and his accompanying officer moved off into the shadowed wood, bearing a burden Pichette would not wish upon anyone. He turned back to the task at hand, addressing his officers. "You know what needs to be done."

"It needs to be done in the way they wish it to be done," Monique told Christine, watching as the young woman paced back and forth across the front parlor. "They must follow the directions from those men if we are to welcome Raoul home tonight."

Christine stopped her pacing long enough to glance at Monique. "I know, I know," she said with a slight nod of her head. "This waiting, though, will be the death of me!" Her bottom lip began to tremble. "I want him back in my arms." A huge gong echoed from the grandfather's clock as it began to toll; six chimes echoed throughout the silent household. "It has been nearly eight hours!"

"I know my dear," Monique said. "I wish there was something I could do to make this easier for you. I wish ..."

"Was that a door?" Christine interrupted Monique, eyes darting towards the front of the house.

Monique rose to her feet. "I do not know. Perhaps it was just a servant."

Voices could be heard coming from the front of the house.

"No, it is them," Christine breathed, her hand going to her throat. She turned to look at Monique, the hope evident in every muscle of her body. "They are back!" Christine exclaimed as she bolted from the parlor, Monique hard on her heels.

Philippe and Xavier were just entering through the open front door, Henri and Didier visible on the portico behind them, Didier's arm wrapped about Henri's shoulders.

"Where is he?" Christine asked. "Where is Raoul?"

Philippe took her hands as Christine stopped by his side. "He is not here," Philippe said softly.

Christine studied her brother-in-law's face. "Where is he? Did you not find him?"

Monique looked at her husband, his pale complexion, the pain evident in his expression and her heart fell. She quietly put a hand on Christine's arm.

"We found the place where they were holding him," Philippe said.

"Then where is my husband?" Christine asked, the only thing she felt was the nausea that was manifesting itself in the pit of her stomach.

Xavier laid a hand on Philippe's shoulder. "There was an explosion, Christine," he said, not wanting his friend to bear this burden alone.

"Raoul is dead," Philippe told her in a soft, lost tone of voice.

Christine tried to take her hands back. "No," she said, her face frowning. "That's a lie."

"Christine ..." Philippe tried again.

"No! Raoul is not dead!" Christine was adamant. "I need to see him. I will not believe that Raoul is dead unless I can see him."

"You cannot see him," Philippe replied.

"Then he is not dead!" Christine was beginning to hyperventilate.

"There was an explosion," Xavier tried again, "and Raoul was in the cottage when it happened." Xavier watched as silent tears began to flow down his wife's cheeks.

"Then we must help him!" Christine exclaimed. "To which doctor did you take him?" Her eyes never left Philippe's face, searching, pleading.

Philippe closed his own eyes for a moment as he composed himself, trying to find a way to make Christine hear what they were saying. He opened his eyes again and gently squeezed the small hands he held. "Christine there is no doctor," Philippe began. "There is no doctor because we cannot help Raoul. You must hear what I am saying." Philippe noted how still Christine had become and moved his hands up to hold her arms. "There was an explosion and we have reason to believe that Raoul was in the center of that explosion." There was no response. "Christine, do you understand what I am saying?"

Christine was silent, the color beginning to drain from her face. "No," she whispered as her head began to shake. "No."

Philippe reached deep inside, holding onto his composure for a moment longer. "Christine, Raoul is dead and you cannot see him because ... because ..." Philippe's voice and composure finally broke and he could not find the words to say.

Xavier also placed his hand on Christine's arm. "Christine you cannot see Raoul because there is nothing left to see," he said as softly and compassionately as he could manage.

Christine looked at Xavier as he spoke before turning her gaze back to Philippe. She found he could not look at her. "Philippe, please," she whispered, trying desperately to hold onto the world that was beginning to spin around her. "Please!" she begged.

Philippe found he could no longer speak and just shook his head. He reached into his pocket and drew out something that he placed into Christine's hand.

Christine looked down and saw her husband's crest ring shining in the lowering light of the longest day of the year. "Raoul," Christine breathed before her eyes rolled up into her head and she collapsed into Philippe's arms.


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter Summary:** Arthur arrives in Paris with news for Raoul and Christine's friends. And his words are overheard by an unseen "friend".

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

Arthur Weldon, personal assistant and friend of the Comte de Chagny, arrived in Paris during the early evening three days after the Summer solstice. He had locked himself in the private coach during the train ride from Lyon, wishing to be alone. He had stared out the window of the coach but saw nothing that moved past. Arthur had ordered food, finding the finely prepared meals tasteless, sending almost full plates back to the kitchen. He could find no reason to eat, no desire to feel. He could not sleep, could form no single rational thought. Arthur was numb and in some part of him that still functioned, he was grateful for the numbness for it was the only way he could participate in a world that still existed. Upon arrival in Paris, he had hired a hansom to take him to the townhouse that the Comte had fully deeded to his young brother upon that man's marriage. Arthur's arrival had been unexpected but he was greeted with fondness by the staff who had known him from the days when the Comte had called Paris home. The fondness engendered by his arrival had quickly dissipated into a nearly bottomless grief when Arthur shared the reason for his visit.

Now, as he sat on the bed he had barely slept in the night before, Arthur was faced with bearing his sad news to those in Paris who had been closest to the Vicomte and his wife. He finished tying the laces on his shoes and sat up, frowning at the bright sun that poured in through the window. Arthur shook his head and stood, crossing the room to angrily rip the ties from the wall allowing the drapes to fall, blocking out a day he did not wish to see. Arthur stared at the torn material in his hands and his anger quickly deflated into embarrassment and sorrow. He inhaled and exhaled deeply several times as he composed himself; there were others who were depending upon him and Arthur would have to save his own emotions for another time. He walked back to the bed, the torn drapery material still in his hands and shrugged into a black suit jacket before leaving the room, heading for the first floor.

Arthur moved down the stairs, noting the somber valet at the front door and the unopened box behind his chair. Arthur knew that there was the customary mourning wreath in the box but he had forbidden any of the staff from placing it on the door until he could speak with those whom he had come to Paris expressly to see. Arthur approached the man. "Monsieur Martin?" he inquired.

"In Monsieur le Vicomte's study," the man replied softly before turning his head away.

Arthur briefly laid a sympathetic hand on the man's arm before turning to go the study; he knew his way for it had been the Comte's study before he had retired to the country outside of Lyon. He quietly opened the door to the study and entered. "Pierre," Arthur said as he entered the room, closing the door behind himself.

Pierre Martin, Raoul's assistant had been staring out the window, watching as Paris came to life for another day and wondering how they could do such a thing when his own world had ground to a halt. Pierre turned at the sound of Arthur's voice. "I still cannot believe that ..." he began and stopped, shaking his head, unable to grasp the news that Arthur had brought with him.

"I know," Arthur replied. "I know." He moved across the room to the two leather chairs that sat in front of Raoul's ornate writing desk. Arthur motioned for Pierre to have a seat and waited until that other man sat across from him. "There are things I must do and things I shall need. I hate to be brusque but I must be back at Chagny within four days."

"Tell me what you need," Pierre said. "I would do anything for ..." his voice broke.

Arthur did not press him to continue. "I understand." Arthur swallowed as he struggled to keep his own emotions under control. "Do you know where the Vicomte's will is located?"

Pierre nodded. "It is at his attorney's office. Do you need me to retrieve it for you?"

"Please and I must have it by tomorrow for my train leaves in the afternoon." Arthur crossed his hands in his lap, hoping that such an action would stop them from trembling. "I dislike laying the burden of carrying this news to the Vicomte's attorney but I must visit the Baron and Baroness de Castelot-Barbezac and Madame Giry." He sighed heavily. "The Vicomtess asked me specifically to go to them."

"They are very dear friends of the Vicomtess and ..." Pierre paused for a moment. "They are very dear friends," he finished and pulled at his jacket, straightening invisible wrinkles. "I shall see the attorney this very morning and have the will for you by the time you return this afternoon. Is there anything else I can do?" He shook his head. "I feel so helpless."

"We all do," Arthur told him softly. "I, too, am at a loss for what to do beyond what I have been asked. I do not know if anyone truly knows what to do." He watched as Pierre stood.

"At least you and I have tasks that must be accomplished and that is, indeed, helpful." Pierre was silent for a moment, his brow creasing. "This is all so hard to believe; I find it makes no sense." He placed his emotions back under a carefully composed façade and looked at Arthur. "There is a coach waiting out front for you."

"Thank you," Arthur nodded. "On your way out would you find Marie and send her to me? I have instructions from the Vicomtess that must be relayed to her."

"Certainly," Pierre said and walked out of the study, his step heavy, his shoulders rounded.

As the door to the study closed behind Pierre, Arthur looked at the room around him, feeling the sorrow begin to rise again. Everywhere he looked there were little signs of the person whose room this had been, the person who had been torn from the lives of those who loved him. Stacks of correspondence, his name on them, were stacked in neat piles awaiting signatures that would never come. A set of toy soldiers from his youth lined one shelf of the bookcase. In the corner stood a parlor palm and Arthur remembered an adolescent's wonder that a palm could grow indoors. And Arthur's breath caught in his throat as he noticed the portrait that hung over the mantle, directly facing the young man's desk; she looked so young and happy, the yellow of her gown highlighting her dark hair, the smile on her face soft as she gazed toward her husband. A gentle knock on the door pulled Arthur from his thoughts and he was glad of it.

"Come," he called out, clearing his throat.

A young woman with eyes red from crying, entered the room. "You sent for me?" she asked quietly.

Arthur rose to feet, extending his hands to the woman. "I did, Mademoiselle Idellette." He watched as Marie crossed to his side, her eyes downcast. Arthur took her hands as they sat. "I realize this is a difficult time for everyone ..."

Marie finally raised her eyes. "I am of no consequence. I am worried for Madame."

"She is being well taken care of, I can assure you of that much," Arthur replied with a sad smile.

"I should be there," Marie said with a shake of her head. "I should be the one to look after her needs and help her through this ..." her voice trailed off and she lowered her eyes again.

Arthur took back his hands and reached into an inside pocket of his jacket, withdrawing a long envelope. "There is something you can do to help Madame," he began and placed the envelope into Marie's hands. "This comes directly from Madame; it contains instructions for you. There are things that you can do for her."

Marie took the envelope into her hands, looking at the familiar – if shaky – script. She sniffled back tears before raising her head to look at Arthur. "I shall tend to them immediately."

"I know that Madame has requested several items to be sent to Chagny," Arthur began. "I dislike placing pressure upon you under such difficult circumstances but I will need to have them by tomorrow as my train leaves in the afternoon."

"I would never fail Madame," Marie was adamant. She rose to her feet. "I should go and tend to my duties."

Arthur, too, rose to his feet, walking with Marie to the door of the study. "Thank you," he said simply and then, "I almost forgot." He placed the torn drapery sashes into Marie's free hand. "I am sorry but I tore these from the wall this morning."

Marie nodded knowingly as she looked at the sashes. "It is easily fixed," she assured Arthur.

Arthur nodded his thanks and watched as Marie slipped the envelope and sashes into the pocket of her apron and quietly left through the door Arthur opened. Arthur closed the door behind her, placing his forehead against it for a moment as the silence of the study closed in about him. He thought he could sense the weight of lost potential and vanished promises closing in upon him. Arthur could almost sense hope and love fly out through the windows and into the damnably bright sky overhead; it was almost more than he could bear. He turned around for a last look, biting down the anger that rose again in his breast and left the study, walking out the front door to the waiting coach.

The coach moved slowly through the traffic that congested the streets and avenues of Paris at mid-morning. The driver, a member of the household staff, knew the way to the destination his passenger had given him and he guided the horses easily past other coaches, past businesses and homes, past people on the crowded sidewalks, past life. The driver kept his eyes on the road before him, not wanting or caring to see the world that still turned, the people that still breathed; he just wanted this day to be over. And the day after that. And the day after that. He needed the distance that time would bring, the lessening of the ache that time would bring. He let his thoughts stray just a bit, remembering other times he had guided the coach in this direction, happier times; times that now seemed so far away. The driver was surprised when he gathered his thoughts back together and found himself entering the neighborhood for which he had been heading; he had always wondered whether or not he could follow the route in his sleep. He pulled back lightly on the reins, slowing the carriage, allowing it to finally stop before a row of elegant town homes. He turned to look at the coach behind him, ready to jump down and open the door when it opened, his passenger climbing out.

Arthur looked up at the driver. "Wait here, please," he said, watching as the driver nodded his understanding. Arthur then turned, looking at the numbers on the townhouses before him. He saw the number for which he had been looking and moved to his left, climbing the stairs of Number Twelve. Arthur paused at the door, raising the brass knocker and letting it fall once. He drew deep breaths, trying to compose himself and dreading the task before him, when the door opened a middle-aged man dressed in a suit looked out at him.

"May I help you, sir?" the man inquired.

Arthur handed him the calling card he held. "I am Arthur Weldon, assistant to the Comte de Chagny," he began. "I come bearing news for the Baron and Baroness in regards to the Vicomte and Vicomtess de Chagny."

The man stood aside, allowing Arthur to enter the house. "If you would be kind enough to wait here for a moment, I shall relay your message to the Baron," the man said before he disappeared down a short hallway.

Arthur sighed, grateful for the moment in which to compose himself. He looked around at the three story home soaring above him, at the carefully constructed wrought iron lining the stone staircase, the finely plastered walls and the tasteful furniture. It was a home in which a good deal of care and love had been lavished. Arthur closed his eyes and shook his head, their friends certainly had excellent taste; he hoped they were as strong of constitution as their home appeared to be.

"Sir?" a voice asked and Arthur opened his eyes to see the man who had answered the door standing before him. "The Baron and Baroness will see you; if you would follow me?" The man held out a hand toward the hall from where he had come, trusting Arthur to follow his lead. He stopped at a paneled door, knocking once. "Come," a male voice called out and the man opened the door, stepping into a brightly lit parlor. "Monsieur Weldon," he announced, stepping aside, allowing Arthur to enter the room and leaving discreetly, closing the door silently.

"I am Valery, Baron de Castelot-Barbezac," Val motioned and Meg came to stand by his side, reaching for his hand. "This is my wife Marguerite." He looked puzzled as he stared at Arthur. "Did we not meet you at the wedding, Monsieur Weldon?"

"Briefly, I believe," Arthur replied. He swallowed once. "I have come from Chagny at the request of the Comte to relay news regarding ..."

Meg could not stand the dread that was creeping up her spine. "It is not Christine, is it?" she blurted out. "I have not heard from her since she and Raoul left Paris six weeks ago."

"Meg," Val corrected her softly but he, too, looked anxiously at Arthur.

"I think you should both sit," Arthur said.

Val's anxiety was rapidly being replaced by a dread that matched his wife's. "I think, Monsieur Weldon, you should just say what you came to say."

"Raoul," Arthur began and remembered his manners. "The Vicomte died three days ago."

Meg collapsed to the seat behind her, followed quickly by Val who waved Arthur to a chair.

"What happened?" Val wondered, his voice sounded hollow. His arm went about Meg, absently patting her back as she cried into his shoulder.

Arthur told them as gently as he could of the events that had led to Raoul's death; in deference to Meg, he left out the worst of the details. He told them that Christine had explicitly asked him to come to Paris in the hopes that they would come to Chagny for the funeral.

"She does not even need to ask," Meg said as she raised her head, the tears staining her cheeks. She turned to her husband. "She is the sister of my heart. I need to go to her."

Val nodded his agreement. "We both do."

A hand went to Meg's mouth. "Maman," she breathed.

"That would be Madame Giry?" Arthur wondered.

"Yes," Val replied.

"The Vicomtess asked me to see her, as well."

Meg rose to stand on shaky legs. "Give me but a moment gather myself ... to gather ..." A single sob escaped Meg's lips and she paused to swallow down another. "Give me a moment to gather myself together and to order a carriage and we shall take you to her." She closed her eyes, a hand reaching for her husband.

"I have a coach out front," Arthur told her.

"Go my love," Val said as he raised the hand he held to his lips before turning to Arthur. "We shall await your return."

"And I waited and waited for what seemed like hours for their return," The woman they were going to see was saying. Madame Giry looked solemnly at the two people who sat in her parlor, the twinkle in her eyes belying the look on her face. "When they finally came home, they were both muddy beyond belief!" She held out her hands in a space of barely four inches. "And the only fish they had caught for all their trouble was this big!" She joined her companions in laughter.

"I cannot picture the Baroness fishing or muddy!" Tallis exclaimed when her laughter stopped.

Erik shook his head. "I can," he muttered darkly but there was a sparkle in his eyes. "I saw things from the backstage catwalks at the opera house that would shock and startle even the most stoic of people." He looked pointedly at Antoinette.

Antoinette shook a finger at him. "Do not think I did not know you were there," she told him. "I should be very interested in knowing what you saw that I did not."

Erik leaned forward slightly. "It would turn your hair grey."

"It did not do much for your hair," Antoinette told him sweetly, as she, too, leaned forward. She stared at Erik for long moments, never flinching from the intensity of his gaze.

Tallis watched as the two stared at each other, neither wishing to be the first to break off and admit defeat. Her mouth opened once or twice, wanting to say something but afraid of Erik's reaction should she do so. Tallis did not need to worry as Erik was the first one whose mouth began to twitch at its corners. She watched as it twitched a little more. And a little bit more and Erik finally broke into joyous laughter, collapsing back into the sofa he shared with Tallis who turned her attention to Antoinette, who was leaning more gracefully back into her chair.

"You see, my dear," Antoinette addressed her. "There are ways to handle this scoundrel."

Erik took a few deep breaths to get his laughter under control and reached for Tallis' hand, raising it to his lips. "She has only to look at me and I am under her spell," he managed to say.

Tallis melted, unable to find the words.

Antoinette sighed. "Never," she was adamant. "Never allow him to leave you speechless."

"Am I speechless?" Tallis wondered rather breathlessly as she still stared at Erik.

Erik raised an eyebrow at her, his lips turning up at one edge. "Obviously not."

That raised Tallis' spirit and she lightly smacked Erik on the arm. "You ... you ... you ..."

"Beast," Erik finished for her, his smirk softening into a gentle smile.

"Beast," Tallis breathed back at him, her smile matching his own.

"I am decidedly out of place," Antoinette said with a smile as she watched the two people across from her lost in each other's eyes. Yet she was happy to see them thus and obviously taking to heart the wisdom she had shared with each of them.

"Did you say something" Erik asked, his eyes still swimming in the star-speckled gray of Tallis' eyes.

"I said that I have grown two heads, one of which is purple and the other of which is green with pink polka dots," Antoinette replied with a perfectly straight face.

"Two heads," Erik said to Tallis as he reached for the hand he did not hold.

"Polka dots," Tallis breathed back, a frown slowly creasing her brow. She turned to Antoinette. "Polka dots?"

What Antoinette might have said was forestalled by the sound of her front door opening and Meg calling out, "Maman!" in decidedly desperate tone of voice.

The three people in the parlor rose to their feet as one, Antoinette pointing to the pocket doors that separated the parlor from the library. "Quickly," she told Erik and Tallis. The couple did not need to be told twice and instantly disappeared behind the doors. Antoinette watched them and turned to the closed door of her parlor as it flung open and Meg rushed in, flinging herself into her mother's arms, sobbing into her shoulder. "Marguerite Giry," Antoinette scolded and felt Meg tighten her hug. Antoinette could do nothing but return the hug. "What is wrong?" she asked. "Have you had your first disagreement with your husband?" Antoinette felt the head on her shoulder shake.

"Oh, Maman," Meg sobbed.

"Meg," Antoinette sighed. "You must tell me what is wrong!"

"I think I can do that," Val said as he entered the room with a man that Antoinette thought looked vaguely familiar. Val held out a hand in the man's direction. "This is Arthur Weldon. He is the assistant to the Comte de Chagny."

"Christine?" Antoinette voiced the first thought that came to her mind.

Meg pulled herself back from her mother's embrace; her blue eyes searching her mother's face for some comfort. "It is Raoul, Maman; he is dead."

Antoinette gasped, a hand going for her throat. She sank into the chair from which she had just risen. She looked at Arthur. "This is not a lie?" She watched as the man shook his head. "What happened?"

Arthur, too, sank into a chair, waiting until Val had crossed the room to take his mother-in-law's hand; Madame waving him into one. "Raoul," he shook his head. "I have known him since he was a child," he muttered almost to himself. "Raoul went riding and was set upon and taken for ransom." Arthur was tired and could scarcely remember the societal conventions he was so used to honoring; he lowered his eyes. "He was subjected to vile deeds and - please! - do not ask me how I know for there are things I do not wish to think upon." He raised his head. "Three days ago the ransom was paid but the men who took him set explosives throughout the place where he was being held while Raoul was still inside. He died in there."

"Dear God," Antoinette breathed, blinking back her tears, years of training taking hold, allowing her to keep her composure before the world but she tightened her grip on the hands of her daughter and son. "Christine and the Comte?"

"In shock," Arthur told her, "as are we all. I do not believe there is a single person at Chagny who is not numb." He drew a deep breath. "They are clinging to each other. The Comte's friends, the de la Censiere's, are staying at Chagny, helping to make arrangements, keeping the house running. The Comte's sisters were to have arrived yesterday." He cleared his throat, collecting his thoughts, sitting up straighter. "I have been asked, by the Vicomtess, if you would come to Chagny."

Antoinette was all business as she straightened her shoulders and set her lips in a thin line. "Of course, I shall go," she stated simply. "When must you leave?"

"The funeral," Arthur could still not get used to that word or the emotional darkness it brought to every room in which it was said, "is in five days time. It is a two day train ride to Lyon and an overnight coach ride to Chagny. A private carriage has been hired and the train leaves tomorrow afternoon."

"Barely enough time," Antoinette thought out loud. "But enough." She turned to hug her daughter. "You must go and prepare." She drew back to look at Meg, the tears still rolling down her cheeks. "I know you are hurting, my child; but you must compose yourself before we reach Chagny for Christine will need our love and our support."

"I am your daughter," Meg whispered back. "I will not embarrass you," she looked over her mother's shoulder at Val, "or my husband. And I shall certainly not fail Christine."

"I know," Antoinette told her gently and turned to Val. "You had best take Meg home."

Val stood, reaching for his wife's hand. "I shall send a coach for you in the morning."

"I will be ready," Antoinette told him and looked at Arthur. "Is there anything we can do to assist you?"

Arthur, too, rose to his feet. "No, thank you. I have my orders and they are just about complete." He nodded at her. "I am so sorry to have come with such news."

Antoinette rose to her feet, the only outward sign of her emotional turmoil, the hands clasped tightly at her waist. "You did admirably and I thank you." She accepted the quick kiss that Meg placed on her cheek and watched as the three people exited the room. Antoinette waited until she had heard the sound of the front door opening and closing, carriage wheels on the gravel drive before crossing the room and sliding open the pocket doors.

Erik and Tallis stood just behind the open doors, wrapped in each other's arms. Erik had his back to the door, his head on Tallis shoulder. Tallis raised her head at the sound of the doors opening, looking at Antoinette with wide, almost frightened eyes. Antoinette took quick note of the embrace, the look and set aside her own emotions to take charge of the situation.

"Tallis," she began and watched as Erik lifted his head. "Would you be so kind as to go and wait for me at the bottom of the stairs?" She looked sternly at Erik as he turned toward her. "I need to speak with Erik."

Tallis nodded and sniffled back the frightened, selfish tears that wanted to start. She raised herself on her toes and lightly kissed Erik's cheek. "I love the beast," she whispered to him before she left the room, closing the parlor door and escaping to the chair at the bottom of the stairs, not wishing to hear the words she knew he would speak.

"I need to go to her, Antoinette," Erik began. "She needs me."

"You are the last thing Christine needs!" Antoinette told him, grateful for the startled reaction her words brought forth.

"But …" Erik began and was stopped as Antoinette took his hand and led him to the piano bench where they both sat.

"Think carefully for once in your life," Antoinette scolded him and her tone grew softer. "Raoul is dead. You tried to force Christine into an unwanted affair by using his life as your bargaining chip." Antoinette tightened her clasp on the hand she held. "Erik, you wanted to kill Raoul not so long ago. Do you truly think that Christine will wish to see you now?"

Erik was silent for a moment. "No," he admitted, "perhaps not."

"There is no perhaps about it," Antoinette replied with a shake of her head. "And have you thought that she will be surrounded by his family and their friends? And that you are still a wanted man? How can you even think it would be safe for you to travel to Lyon?"

"I cannot think clearly where Christine is concerned. I have never been able to think clearly where she is concerned."

"Then think upon this." Antoinette watched as Erik lifted his head to look at her, the tone of her voice pulling him from the dark well into which he was falling. "There is a young woman here who holds the key to your happiness in her hands. If you are a fool and throw that gift away or hurt her, I shall never forgive you." Antoinette took back her hands and stood, leaving the room, allowing the impact of her sternly spoken words to seep into Erik's confused and emotionally torn mind. She did not see him place his head into his hands as she left the room, his shoulders beginning to shake.

Antoinette walked from her parlor and down the hall to find Tallis waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. The young woman sat upright in a chair, her head leaning back against the wall, her eyes closed. Antoinette took pity on her companion as she noticed the uneven movement of Tallis' bodice as she struggled to keep from crying.

"Tallis," Antoinette said as she laid a hand on her friend's shoulder.

"He wants to go to her," Tallis said without opening her eyes.

"Look at me, my dear," Antoinette said as she squeezed the shoulder she held, watching as Tallis opened her eyes. "I shall not lie to you; yes, he does want to go to her but that is something that is unrealistic and very foolish." Antoinette managed a tight smile. "May I give you a word of advice?"

"Please," Tallis pleaded.

"Allow Erik the freedom to wallow in his darkness and memories for they are a part of him," Antoinette began. "But do not give him so much freedom that he sinks into them. Hold to him, my dear, but not too tightly. It is a fine line you must walk, can you do it?"

Tallis sniffled and nodded.

"Go to him," Antoinette said as she placed a hand on the banister. "He needs you more than he knows and I need a moment." As she climbed the stairs, Antoinette heard the sound of Tallis' skirts brushing along the floor as the young woman hurried back to Erik's side. _Perhaps_, Antoinette thought as she reached the second floor, _there is someone into whose hands I can safely place his care_.

Antoinette opened the door to her room, closing it quietly before moving to sit at her vanity; a trembling hand reached for thedaguerreotypeof her husband that she always kept close by. Antoinette looked at it for a moment, the image beginning to blur. She drew the framed picture to her chest, her eyes closing and in the privacy of her room, the very private woman allowed past grief and present grief to merge into one and she wept for all that might have been.


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter Summary:** A funeral is held and Christine says goodbye to Raoul.

_**Author's Warning: You WILL need tissues for this chapter. I sobbed like a little baby while I wrote it - take that revelation as to seriousness of my "tissue issue" warning!**_

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

Christine stared at the small velvet box she held in her hands, the silver of the medallion gleaming against the soft blue material. She thought she heard a noise far off in the distance and chose to ignore it, concentrating on the gift she held. Christine found she could only concentrate on what was immediately before her for she did not have the energy to go beyond herself. Thin fingers reached for the lid of the box, moving it downwards, gently snapping it shut. She allowed her fingers to caress the softness covering the box and tried to remember the feelings its purchase had engendered; she could not. Christine could feel nothing, could not think; a small part of her was amazed that she even remembered to breathe.

"Christine?" a voice called and Christine lowered her head to see a hand on her arm. She raised her eyes to see Antoinette looking at her, the older woman's face full of concern and compassion.

"I did not hear you," Christine said, her voice hollow, as she turned back to what she held in her hands.

"It is almost time," Antoinette said softly. "They are expecting you downstairs."

Christine hoped she was nodding for she could not feel her head.

"What is that?" Antoinette asked as her hand reached for what Christine held. She was surprised when both of the younger woman's hands quickly covered the small box.

"It is a …" Christine began and paused briefly, her eyes closing. She began to sway lightly as she tightened her grip on the box. "It was," she corrected herself, "to have been a gift for Raoul." Christine opened her eyes and placed the box into the open bureau drawer, closing it and staring out the window. "Are there roses?" she wondered.

"Many people have sent flowers," Antoinette told her.

Christine frowned for a moment. "We agreed we would not have roses," she replied softly turning to Antoinette. "Raoul would not be happy."

Antoinette gently squeezed the arm she held.

"Lilies," Christine went on, barely aware that the woman she looked up to as mother was standing next to her. "Raoul and I chose lilies as our flower. There must be lilies. Please tell me there are lilies."

"There are lilies," Antoinette assured her.

Christine nodded to herself. "That will make Raoul happy," she whispered as her hands smoothed the heavily creped black gown she wore. "But he did not like to see me in black." Christine reached for the gloves on the bureau, her hands momentarily gripping its sharp edge. "I am sorry, my love," she breathed. "I am so sorry. Please forgive me."

Antoinette carefully watched the remnants of the girl before her, remembering her own nearly unfathomable grief at the death of her own husband. She clenched her teeth together, biting back the emotions that flooded forth from long forgotten recesses of her mind. "Christine," she said. "Is there anything you need? Anything that will help you get through the next few hours? A light mixture of sleeping draught, perhaps?" Antoinette was surprised when Christine suddenly came to life, whirling on her.

"No drugs!" Christine exclaimed, frightened and panicked.

"It is all right, my dear," Antoinette told her as she placed a gloved hand upon Christine's cheek. "It was only a suggestion." She watched as Christine sunk back into her shell.

"I am sorry," Christine told her. "We should go. I do not want to let anyone down."

Antoinette took her by the shoulders. "No one is expecting you to be strong, Christine."

"Raoul is," Christine said simply.

Antoinette drew Christine into her arms and they stood in the summer sunshine that flooded in through windows whose drapes had been pulled back to let in the bright day. They held tightly to each other, each woman an early member of a club to which neither wished to belong. Antoinette finally drew back, looking at Christine's pale face, worried that the young woman had not yet shed any tears and wondering when she would finally break. Antoinette sighed deeply, took Christine's arm and they walked out of the room, down to the first floor where family and friends awaited them.

"Christine," Philippe said, his voice catching in his throat, his hands reaching for her.

Christine immediately crossed to him, allowing Philippe to draw her close. She closed her eyes and for a brief moment Christine could almost imagine she was back in her husband's arm but then reality came crashing through her fantasy as she heard Philippe's voice speaking to her.

"Are you all right? Is there anything you need?" he was asking in a shaky tone.

"No," Christine said as she drew back, shaking her head. "No. I am fine." She caught sight of Arthur coming out of a door. "I would like a moment with Arthur, if I may."

Philippe nodded as he let Christine go, unwilling to trust his voice.

"Roses," Christine muttered to herself as she walked through the gathered family and friends, toward Arthur who was standing silently in the hall, his head bent. "Raoul would not have liked all these roses."

"Is she going to be all right?" Meg asked her mother.

"In time," Antoinette tried assuring her daughter and herself. "In time."

Christine did not hear them, was not aware of the eyes that watched as she stopped by Arthur's side. "Arthur," she said softly.

At the sound of her voice, Arthur drew a deep breath, taking a moment to compose himself before raising his head to look at the woman beside him. "Madame," he began. "How may I help?"

"Do you remember saying I could tell you anything?" Christine watched as Arthur nodded. "May I have a moment of your time?" Arthur nodded again. "Privately, please."

Arthur turned, reaching to open the door through which he had just exited. He stepped aside, allowing Christine to enter before following her, closing the door behind them.

"She could not say it to us," Henri said softly from where he stood slumped against the wall near the front door.

Desiree DiChiara, Raoul's eldest sister, laid a comforting hand on Henri's arm, managing a small sad smile for her charming cousin. "I am certain she did not mean to slight you," Desiree told him. "She is just grieving, as are we all."

Henri drew Desiree into his arms as her husband, Armando, the Marchese DiChiara, watched with hooded eyes. Armando was under no illusions when it came to his wife's young cousin. He looked toward Baron Wilhelm Mahler who stood unyieldingly straight behind his wife, Charlotte – Desiree's younger sister – and acknowledged the other man's slight nod; Wilhelm was also under no illusions when it came to Henri's character.

"I wonder what they are talking about," Lady Sarah De Chagny, Henri's mother, said to her husband.

"I am not sure we should ask that question," Steven, Lord De Chagny, replied.

The questions that Christine had to ask Arthur were, indeed, questions that the rest of the family would not wish to hear; but they were questions that were troubling the new widow. She now stood still before Arthur, her only movement the hands that fiddled with the black lace gloves they held.

"Pardon me?" Arthur was shocked at what Christine had asked.

"Is there going to be a coffin?" Christine repeated, her words echoing around the still room. There was no answer and Christine fixed dry, bloodshot eyes upon Arthur. "Please," she pleaded softly. "I need to know. You were there; you know what they did to him. Arthur, I need to know. I need to know if we are burying my husband or only his memory. Please!"

Arthur shook his head. "Madame, I really do not think …" He felt talons wrap around his wrists.

"You do not know the nightmares I am having," Christine whispered emphatically. "You do not know what I see when I close my eyes. You do not know what I see when they are open." Christine's eyes roamed about the room. "I am haunted by what Raoul had to endure." Her voice lowered to a tone that was a whispered hiss drawn from the very darkest depth of Christine's soul. "I keep seeing pieces of him everywhere! I am so afraid that one day I shall wake from this living nightmare and my imagination will have come to life and I shall find my husband in pieces next to me in our bed. I need to know!"

Arthur studied the woman staring at him, the nearly hysterical desperation painfully evident on her drawn face. He swallowed and took pity on her. "There will be a coffin," he told her and managed a slight wan smile. "We are burying your husband and not his memory."

Christine kept a steady gaze on Arthur's face. "All of him?" she asked.

Arthur had spent years in Philippe's service and had learned that there are moments when it is better to tell someone what they wish to hear than to tell them the plain truth. "All of him," he replied, watching as some of the tension eased from Christine's shoulders.

"Thank you," Christine breathed, closing her eyes for a moment. She slowly opened them and reached in to kiss Arthur lightly on the cheek. "Thank you for lying to me," she whispered and drew back. "We must go." Christine took the arm that Arthur proffered, allowing him to lead her back to the family that waited to walk to the small chapel from where they would lay to rest the family's future.

The walls of the private chapel at Chagny were originally raised when the first Chagny and de la Censiere settled into the lush valley. They located it on the Chagny side of the valley, closer to the village that was just beginning and that did not have its own place of worship. The original chapel had been destroyed by a mysterious fire in the 1600's and Georges, the Comte de Chagny at the time, commissioned a new chapel to be built. His architect had designed a building able to hold one hundred worshipers, sending for stained glass windows from Venice that lined both sides of the chapel and occupied the upper third of the wall above the altar. The chapel had been designed with a small bell tower, the bell ordered from the finest metal workers in Germany and sounding like the call of an angel when it had first rung out. The architect had also managed to incorporate a loft that accommodated a small but powerful organ. The chapel was designed to be light and airy, welcoming in human and God alike.

On this day, the usual airiness of the chapel had been washed away by a powerful presence of sorrow and loss. Today the red glow of the presence candle was joined by black tapers that lined both sides of the altar, standing at attention, their flames saluting the two large candles that stood at either end of the long box resting in the nave before the altar. A flag depicting the crest of the person being laid to rest was draped over the coffin, the ends of the silk motionless in the warm summer air. Friends sat or wept silently on the left side of the small chapel, not a spare seat in any pew to be found, as they awaited the arrival of the family.

A small boy, dressed in the formal white and black of an altar boy briefly stuck his head out the sacristy door before drawing it back and turning to the black-clad priest behind him. "The chapel is full, Monsieur."

"Thank you, Charles," Father Navarre Deveral replied. "You should go now and wait for the family for you must guide them into the chapel." He laid a gentle hand on the boy's head. "Go now and remember the solemn occasion for which we are here."

Charles took Father Navarre's hand, drawing it to his lips and kissing the ring. "I shall not fail you, mon pere."

"Of that I am sure," Father Navarre replied. "Now go." He watched as Charles left the sacristy before turning back, drawing the stole off its hanger, kissing it and placing it around his neck. He reached for the black alb and paused, drawing a deep sigh. "Father," he prayed softly. "I know that I am called to do Your will in joy and without question. Yet I can find no joy and many questions in this occasion."

Father Navarre had known Raoul from the moment he had held the squirming child in his arms and poured the holy oil over his head upon the infant's christening. It was his first major duty as the new shepherd of the flock that called the village of Chagny home. Over the years he had grown to love his parishioners and they had returned his affection. Father Navarre was a gentle, patient man who handed out wisdom and corrections with the same smiles and patience with which he gave sweets to the village children. He had been stunned when the news of the Vicomte's death had arrived and more stunned when he learned the circumstances. He had telegraphed Lyon and received permission to hold a private service from the family chapel; a large service at the village church considered inappropriate considering the state of the young man's remains.

"Grant me but a modicum of your strength," Father Navarre continued his prayer, "so that I may honor the soul and memory of a man taken too soon from this life, that I may be a comfort to those who grieve and that I may perform my duties in respect and humility to the glory of Your name." Father Navarre took the alb in his hands and slid it easily over his head, adjusting the black brocade so that it fell in easy waves to his feet. He looked briefly out the window and saw the family approaching. He raised his eyes to the crucifix hanging on the wall. "Strength, please."

Christine, her arm clinging to Philippe's, watched as the chapel appeared before her eyes. She noted the small boy who came tearing around the corner, his long garments flowing in the wind and her breath caught in her throat, a hand going to her stomach.

"Christine?" Philippe said as he turned to her.

"It is nothing," she whispered, her head shaking. "Nothing." She felt Philippe's hand tighten on her arm.

"I need you with me," he said softly. "You are my last connection to my ... to ..." Philippe could not find the emotional resources to voice his brother's name.

Christine felt something flow through her veins; it was a feeling she could not categorize or understand. Then, through the numbness in which she was wrapped, knowledge dawned like a beacon in the dead of the coldest winter. Christine raised her head toward the heavens, closing her eyes. _Thank you_, she whispered to the person who now lived only in her heart and the one who was beginning life beneath it; she had found the last bit of strength she would need. "I shall always be here," Christine whispered to Philippe as she took her hands and reached for the black crepe veil that hung from her bonnet, drawing it over her head. Her covered head turned to Philippe. "I am ready."

Philippe drew a deep shuddering breath and took back Christine's arm and followed the altar boy into the small chapel. They walked into the vestibule, knowing that the rest of their family were behind them, feeling the love and support for them coming through the personal grief of others. Charles, the altar boy, opened the door to the sanctuary and began the walk down the short transept. Philippe and Christine trailed slowly behind him, their steps faltering as they entered the sanctuary to see the flag-draped coffin at the end of the aisle.

"Oh God," Philippe breathed, biting back a sob.

Christine said nothing but clung tighter to Philippe's arm as the sanctuary began to spin about her. She was not aware of walking down the aisle, of Philippe lightly touching his brother's coffin before he and Christine took their seats in the first pew, closest to the aisle. The chapel continued to spin as Raoul's sisters and their husbands joined Philippe and Christine in the first pew, other family members, closest friends and servants filling in behind them. The heavy scent of roses mixed and mingled with other flowers and a sickly, sweet scent buried far beneath them that Christine could not place. She could feel the nausea rise in her throat and absently wondered if God would be angry with her were she to be ill in His home. Christine watched as Father Navarre exited from the sacristy, kneeling briefly before the altar, before standing and turning, taking the scepter from Charles and sprinkling holy water over her husband's coffin.

"He does not need a bath," she said to herself, no one hearing the whispered words. She could feel Philippe's hand tighten on her arm as the priest turned back toward the altar to begin the Mass. Yet Christine did not follow the motions of the man before the cross; she stared at the familiar crest resting atop her husband's coffin. Christine kept her eyes fixed to that spot, willing it to go away, willing the nightmare to end, struggling to hear her husband call to her, pulling her from the darkness and into the safety of his arms. She strained to hear his silly little laugh above the carefully intoned Latin that echoed off the stone walls of the chapel. She wanted to run up to that box and throw it open, showing everyone that this was all a lie; that Raoul was not dead and he was just playing with them. They would be so angry with him but she would laugh with him as he grabbed her, pulling her close, whirling her around ...

"Christine," a voice called to her. "It is time to go."

"What?" Christine looked around and found herself outside in the family cemetery, Raoul's coffin resting before a mausoleum. "How did I get here?" she asked, turning toward the voice, finding Antoinette holding to her arm.

"It is all right, my dear," Antoinette assured her.

Christine looked puzzled and lowered her eyes to find a calla lily between her hands. "I do not remember." She raised frightened eyes to Antoinette. "I do not remember!"

"It does not matter," Antoinette said, "but now you must say goodbye and come home with those who love you."

"I cannot leave him," Christine was adamant. She felt a head go to her shoulder and turned to see Meg standing on her other side. "I cannot leave him, Meg!"

Meg sniffled, a black clad hand, wiping at tear-stained cheeks. "I know you do not want to," Meg began and raised her head.

"I cannot!" Christine told her.

"What is she doing now?" Desiree wondered as she watched the interaction between Christine and her friends from some distance.

"Leave her alone," Philippe warned his sister in a tired voice. "You were not here. You did not see ..." His voice broke. "You do not know ..." He was grateful to the light touch upon his arm and the smell of jasmine that accompanied it.

"It was more than any of us could bear," Monique finished for her friend.

"He was our brother, too," Charlotte said, dabbing at her eyes.

"I know, I know," Philippe sighed, his age wearing heavily upon him. "I am sorry. I do not even know what I am saying." He turned his attention back toward Christine. "I should go to her."

"I will go," Xavier volunteered.

"No, thank you," Philippe said. "I am more grateful for your friendship and support these last days than you will ever know but," he drew a deep breath, "but Raoul would wish me to watch after and care for his wife."

Philippe carefully placed Monique's hand into that of her husband and walked back toward the cemetery. He did not see the strange look that crossed Xavier's face but Monique did and she squeezed the arm she held, giving her husband a strained smile that was of little comfort. They both turned back to watch as Philippe approached his brother's widow.

Christine had her gaze fixed on the mausoleum, speaking to it. "But it is made of stones and it is cold and dark," she was saying as Philippe approached. "Raoul did not like cold and stones and dark after that night. He would have nightmares about them. I need to stay with him and keep away the nightmares."

Philippe closed his eyes in pain.

"Christine," Antoinette said as gently as she could, "Raoul will never have nightmares again. He is in Heaven ..."

Christine turned to face the people about her. "But how will God know it is him?" She interrupted. "We are not burying his whole body and you need a body to get into Heaven."

"Oh God," Meg breathed and buried her face in her husband's shoulder, feeling Val's arm go about her waist in strong, gentle support.

Philippe took a hesitant step forward and was stopped by Antoinette's raised hand. "You must listen to me," she told Christine, taking her by the arms. "Raoul is no longer here and God will not turn away one such as your husband." Antoinette took note of how still Christine had become. "Raoul is in a place where he can never be hurt again. He is safe and at peace and you must free the last chain he has that binds him to this earth. You must say goodbye and let him go." Antoinette pulled Christine close so that she could whisper in her ear. "He takes your love with him as surely as you will hold his in trust until you meet again. I know this as truth with every beat of my heart." Antoinette felt Christine's arms go about her, hugging her lightly before the younger woman drew back.

"May I have a moment alone with my husband?" Christine asked softly and turned to Philippe. "Please?"

"I ..." Philippe began with a shake of his head until he felt Christine's hand on his cheek.

"Please," she breathed.

Philippe could only nod and he was grateful that Antoinette took his arm in her own strong one for Philippe was not sure he could leave his brother again. He gave a last lingering glance to the wood that gleamed in the mid-day sun before allowing Antoinette to lead him from the cemetery.

Meg gave Christine a quick hug and a kiss.

"Are you sure?" Val wondered.

Christine nodded once. "Yes." She watched as everyone walked away, stopping with the family and friends who now waited only for her. Christine turned her back on them, facing her husband's coffin. She took one hand and raised the veil from her face; there were still no tears in her eyes. A trembling hand reached out and placed a lone lily atop the coffin.

"Raoul," Christine breathed in a shaky voice as her hand lightly caressed the top of her husband's casket. "My beautiful golden light." A second hand joined the first. "Where is the knight to ride in upon a white horse and carry me from the cemetery? Where is the hero to save me from the monsters lurking in the darkness? Where is the prince to hold me in his arms and lavish me with kisses?" Christine leaned her head forward. "They are all gone; they left with you. You take my light, my summertime, my life with you." Her hands moved along the smooth edges of the wood. "I am so sorry. I did not mean for this to happen. I did not mean for my fears to become entangled with your life. Oh God; why did you ever love me?" Christine laid her head upon the top of the casket. "And how am I to live a life without you to love? How am I to wake each morning without your light to guide me through the day? How am I to face my fears without you to guard my heart?" She closed her eyes and lightly rubbed her cheek against the warm wood. "But Antoinette was right and you are at peace and there is none who can ever hurt you again." Christine straightened. "I have to leave you now. We have to say goodbye." A small smile crossed her lips. "Yet I take you with me." She raised a hand to her lips and placed it on the lily that had marked the start of their lives together and was now witnessing the end. "Thank you, thank you," Christine murmured and bent over to kiss the top of the casket. "I shall always love you," she whispered against the wood.

Christine straightened and stared for a long moment at Raoul's casket before reaching up to draw the widow's veil back over her face, turning her back and walking away into an uncertain future.


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter Summary:** Erik struggles with the memory of Christine and the emotional turmoil it invokes. Tallis struggles with the beast, The Phantom, the man and herself.

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

Tallis adjusted the basket she carried over her arm and opened the door to the cobbler's shop, stepping inside as the bell over the door announced her arrival. She looked at the middle-aged man who appeared from behind a brown cloth curtain. He was smiling and looking at her over the top of his glasses. "Good afternoon, Monsieur," she said, returning his smile.

"Mademoiselle," he answered, wiping his hands on the apron he wore. He approached Tallis and stopped behind his counter. "Is there something I can help you with?"

Tallis drew a deep breath and took her life into her hands. "Your tenant upstairs," she began, "have you seen him this past five days?"

The cobbler took his glasses off, fiddling with the earpieces before returning them to the bridge of his nose. "I do not know of whom you speak," he answered Tallis. "You have mistaken me for someone else."

"Please, Monsieur," Tallis pleaded. "I come from Madame Giry. We have not seen him for some time and we are concerned for his welfare." Tallis raised the cloth over the basket she held revealing it to be full of food and drink. "I bring him meals from our kitchen." She did not squirm under the cobbler's intense gaze.

"Madame Giry, you say," he replied. "What are you to that lady?"

Tallis sighed, feeling exasperation rise in her breast. "I am her companion. Please, Monsieur!"

The man continued to study Tallis with a careful eye, watching her every move. Tallis tried desperately to hold her patience under his scrutiny but her nerves were slowly getting the best of her and she began to bounce on her toes. One hand fiddled with the linen covering the basket held in the other hand. She began to chew her bottom lip and was about ready to scream her frustration when the man watching her broke into a wide grin, shaking his head.

"He is upstairs and has been these past days," the man told Tallis. "I do not hear the usual pacing nor do I hear any music. There is just silence." He nodded toward the curtain through which he had passed. "Go through there and the door to the second floor is directly ahead of you at the back of the room." He swung open the door in the counter and motioned for Tallis to come forward.

"Thank you, Monsieur," Tallis said with a smile as she walked past the cobbler, through the curtain and into the back room. She quickly moved across the small space, entering the door at the back of the room. She climbed the stairs behind that door and paused at the top before a second door.

Tallis knocked lightly once on the door and there was no answer. She knocked a bit more loudly and called softly, "Erik." There was still no answer. "I know you are in there," Tallis tried as she knocked on the door for a third time. Still not receiving an answer to her knocks and entreaties, Tallis felt her temper grow and she stamped her foot, slamming an open palm against the door. "Erik! If you do not let me in, I shall smash this door down!" Tallis breathed deeply and slowly as she tried to calm her nerves and plan a way to break down the door in front of her when it suddenly opened.

"And with what are you planning on breaking down my door," Erik wondered as he stared blankly at her, "your rapier wit?" He turned his back on Tallis and walked back into his darkened garret without waiting for her answer.

"I do not know what you just said," Tallis told him as she stepped over the threshold and into the garret, "but I think I am supposed to be angered by it."

Erik absently waved a hand over his shoulder at her. "As you wish," he said as he walked toward his piano bench.

"Impossible," Tallis seethed beneath her breath, a wicked little twinkle beginning in her eyes. She watched as Erik began to lower himself to the piano bench and reached behind herself, slamming the door closed with as much anger as she could muster. A self-satisfied smile crossed her face as a startled Erik missed the piano bench and ended up on the floor.

Erik closed his eyes, his face turning a bright red. "You little ..." he began.

"What?" Tallis wondered as she entered the darkened room. "Brat?" She placed her basket down on a table. "Spoiled chit?" She walked across the room and flung open the draperies. "Deplorable?" She crossed the room and opened the draperies on that side. Tallis turned back and walked into the center of the room, placing her hands on her hips and staring down at Erik. "The beauty who loves the beast?"

"I am the beast," Erik growled as he rose to his feet. "You are in my lair." He strode three steps forward and stopped before Tallis. "And you are no beauty."

"I _know_ I am not Christine," Tallis shot back. She watched as Erik's eyes began to glitter dangerously.

Erik grabbed her by the arms. "Do not even dare to speak her name," he hissed.

"I shall dare as I wish!" Tallis told him.

"You would do well to remember your place, mademoiselle!"

"I know I am only a poor substitute for the woman you truly want ..." Tallis began and found herself interrupted by the angry beast she had awakened.

"You are the woman I want!" Erik growled at her as he pulled her to him, his lips seeking out hers.

Tallis froze at the feel of Erik's kiss, its desperation and urgency. Her eyes widened as Erik drew back, his breath coming hard and fast, his eyes drinking in her face. There was something in them that Tallis had never before seen and she was frightened by it; it was almost as if Erik did not have a soul.

"I would watch what you offer a desperate beast," he breathed in her face. "You may just find your offer accepted." Erik reached in again for Tallis' lips, moving his hands down her arms to encircle her waist, his hands going to the bustle of her skirt.

A shiver of fear began to crawl up Tallis' spine as Erik's hands moved further and further down her body, his lips suddenly angry and demanding. She yanked her head to the side as Erik drew back to catch his breath. "Erik," she pleaded, "stop."

Erik did not hear her and buried his face in the side of her neck, breathing heavily into her ear. A single hand moved to her hip, trailing further and further downward.

Tallis finally did something she had never before done in Erik's presence; she began to cry. "Please," Tallis begged him, as the tears began to flow down her cheeks. "Stop!"

Her tears did what mere words could not and Erik stopped, pulling back, staring blindly at the crying woman before him.

"Erik," Tallis said in a shaky voice as a single hand reached toward him.

What Erik might or might not have done was interrupted by a loud pounding on the door.

"Mademoiselle! Mademoiselle!" the cobbler's voice called out. "Do you need help?"

Erik quickly turned his back to Tallis. "It would be wise to answer that," he said softly.

Tallis bit her lip before reaching up to wipe at the tears on her face. She turned her back to Erik, crossed the room and opened the door to the garret. The cobbler stood there, worry written on his face and visible in his stance. "Yes," Tallis said as she gave the man a rather shaky smile.

"I heard a loud noise," he told her. "I was concerned for your safety."

"I am fine," Tallis tried assuring him. "Monsieur Herrin slipped from his piano bench and fell to the floor."

The cobbler tried looking around Tallis but could see nothing and he turned his attention back to her. "Are you certain you do not need help?" he wondered and cocked his head to one side. "A chaperone, perhaps?"

Tallis shook her head sadly. "No," she said. "I will be fine." She laid a hand on his arm. "But I thank you." She watched the emotions play across the man's face as he debated within himself the wisdom of leaving her alone with his strange tenant. "Please, monsieur," Tallis tried again, "I promise I shall scream if I find myself in need of help."

"If you are sure," the man was still uncertain.

"I am," Tallis nodded. She waited as the man turned and walked down the stairs, closing the door at the bottom behind him before closing the door in which she stood and turning back to the room. "Erik?" she asked softly.

"You had best scream and run now," he replied in an equally soft tone as he sank to his piano bench, his head in his hands. "I am not fit company." The head in the hands shook. "I am not safe."

"I am not going to scream," Tallis said as she began to cross the room. "I am not running away." She stopped in front of Erik, dismayed when he did not raise his head to look at her. "I am so sorry I lost my temper with you and brought this upon us both." Tallis breathed a small sigh as a single hand reached for her; she clasped it warmly in her own. "You _are_ safe and I am safe when I am with you."

"But I frighten you," came the pained reply and the voice grew softer. "I frighten everyone."

Tallis said nothing for a long moment as she calmed the irritation that washed over her at the words that slipped from Erik's mouth; at the words her actions caused to slip from his mouth. Her lips opened slightly as she let out a very long, slow breath. "You did frighten me," she told Erik as she sat next to him, still holding to his hand. "I was not prepared for the reaction my words and my deeds brought forth." Tallis watched Erik silently, desperately trying to see his face, read the emotions that played across his unique features. "Does the mere mention of her name always cause you such pain?"

Erik's free hand slipped over the one holding to his but he would still not raise his head. "I am afraid that if I speak the truth - no matter your assurances - you will run." His hands tightened over the one he held.

"I will not go anywhere," Tallis replied, her head dipping to briefly touch Erik's shoulder. "I cannot for you hold tightly to my hand." She watch as Erik finally raised his head to her but Tallis also noted that he did not release her hand.

"Christine is the voice in my head," Erik began as he locked his eyes with the ones watching him, drawing strength from their soft grey depths. "She was the only voice that I heard for so many years. She drowned out the sound of my own voice and I allowed her to do so."

"Why?" Tallis asked quietly.

"Would you want to listen to the voice that echoes in this head?" Erik asked her as he shook his head. "The voice of a maltreated, lonely child? The voice of angry adolescent? The voice of a man starving for ..." He stopped, turning his head, tearing his eyes away.

"You do not need to hear her anymore," Tallis told him gently, she took her free hand, reaching for Erik's chin and turning his face back to her. "I shall be the voice in your head. I shall be the mother to the child and the friend to the adolescent." She sniffled. "I shall be the woman you want."

Erik raised the hand he held to his lips. "God help us both," he whispered, "for you are the woman I want." He bent his head against Tallis' hand. "Yet I always seem to want more than you are willing to give."

Tallis closed her eyes in thought as she carefully formulated her next words. "Erik, please look at me," Tallis said as she opened her eyes. She waited as Erik raised his head to look at her, the pain and guilt evident in his eyes. "It is not that I am not willing," Tallis began, a look on concentration on her face as she struggled with her words. "It is that ... that ..."

"I understand," Erik said, anticipating the words of rejection he had heard all his life.

"Please," Tallis pleaded with him, "allow me to finish." She gave him a crooked smile as he nodded his assent. "I may be a grown woman but I must still bow to the wishes of my parents as long as they live and I remain unmarried. I do not wish to hurt or disappoint them more than I have already done. Nor do I wish to bring scandal upon their name; they are good people who love me dearly."

"Merely by being here in this room with me you find yourself in the midst of a scandal." Erik shook his head at her. "Merely knowing me is a scandal."

"That is a chance I am willing to take."

"But you are not willing to go further."

Tallis sighed. "I am not willing to go further for you are not yet mine."

Erik looked confused. "But ..."

Tallis placed a finger against his lips. "I am not blind and I am not a silly child - in spite of the immaturity I know is my greatest fault. I know that Christine still holds sway in your mind and I know that she holds a greater place in your heart than do I. Until you can let her memory go, I shall never have all of you. I am content for now with the part of you that I do have but I shall not lie to you - I want more. I need more. I need to know that your only thoughts are of me and for me before," Tallis blushed and took her hands back, placing them in her lap, "before I allow you liberties that I would otherwise regret."

"I do not want you in that way!" Erik said harshly and relented at the shocked and dismayed look that crossed the face of the woman sitting next to him. "I do want you," Erik tried again, "but I do not want you as my mistress." A single hand reached for Tallis and Erik felt a tiny wave of relief wash over him as she lightly held to it. "I want more for you, for us; yet, I do not know how to give it to you."

"These last weeks have been a beginning," Tallis replied. "I thought we had made a good beginning."

"I had thought so, as well," Erik said as his brow furrowed in worry.

"But when you heard that Christine's husband had died ..."

"I owe her so much."

Tallis briefly closed her eyes in pain at Erik's words.

"I did try to kill him," Erik continued, barely aware of the woman sitting next to him. "I hated him for all he was." Erik grimaced. "That boy was everything I was not - whole, wealthy, free - and I hated him for it. God will never forgive me for how much I hated him. I was ready to kill him that night, regardless of what Christine's answer might or might not have been. Either way, I was not going to let him live for he would always have come between us." Erik looked up at Tallis. "In much the same way that Christine has come between us."

Tallis could only nod.

"And now he is dead," Erik took back his hands and got to his feet, stalking angrily across the small room. "And he still comes between me and the woman I want."

Tallis noticed that Erik did not use the one word she longed to hear. "It is not Christine's murdered husband who comes between us," she said. "It is Christine. I know such and you have said it."

Erik turned back to look at her. "It is not Christine," Erik paused, trying to find the words to express the emotions that raged within his veins. "It is what I owe her. It is what I took from her. It is what I made her into." Erik's visage once again turned dark and deadly as the ghost of The Phantom laid claim to the soul of the man. He did not notice the fear that embraced the woman he addressed or the trembling hands that she clasped tightly in her lap. "I took her trust." Erik took a long step forward. "I took her faith." And another long step. "I took her innocence." And another long step. "And I turned them into something twisted and ugly." He stopped in front of Tallis, looking down at her, seeing only Christine. "I turned her emotions into a mirror of my own" Erik drew in a deep breath through his nose and straightened his posture. "I made her my face to the world and that boy came along and took her from me." Erik shook his head. "I destroyed her and he managed to save her." He began to sway lightly on his feet and dropped to his knees, burying his head on Tallis' lap. "I need to tell her that I am sorry," came his muffled words. "I need to apologize. I need to know that she is well and strong and able to deal with her loss. I need to hear her say she forgives me for all that I did to her." Erik's muffled voice grew softer. "And to him. I need ... I need ..." Erik's voice broke and he could not continue.

Tallis felt his arms go about her waist and tighten as if she were the only thing keeping him tethered to the world for which he longed. She stared down at him, this man on his knees before her, his head in her lap and Tallis lifted her hands, holding them at the sides of Erik's head, hesitating for a moment, unsure of what to do, before gently resting them on either side. She felt Erik shudder as her fingers touched the scarred side of his scalp and Tallis only exerted more gentle pressure at his trembling. Soft fingertips gently massaged the skin beneath them, trying to rub away a lifetime of guilt. Slowly she bent her head so that was resting atop Erik's. "It will be all right," she whispered. "We shall make it all right."

"How?" Erik asked, his head still buried in her lap.

"I will find a way for you to speak with Christine," Tallis told him. "I will find a way so that you may seek her forgiveness."

Erik finally raised his head to look at her in wonder. "How?" he breathed.

"I do not know," Tallis had to admit, "but that does not mean I shall not try. You will never be free from her until you see her. I shall never be free from her until you do. _We_," Tallis emphasized the word, "shall never be free until you do."

Erik studied her face for a long moment. "What if I am never free of her and her memory? What if I can not give you all that want?" He paused, frightened of the next words to pass his lips. "Would you leave me?"

Tallis did not even have to think upon her answer. "No," she promised Erik. "I shall never leave. I told you once that no matter what happens between us I shall always be your friend and that shall never change." She saw the hope in his eyes and knew her next words would dash it to the ground. "But if you want more from me you shall have to let Christine go."

"How could you be my friend and love me at the same time?"

Tallis smiled gently at the worried man looking up at her. "I was your friend before I fell in love with you; that is something that does not change. I believe that love is built from friendship and that is what makes it strong and that is what will make it last."

Erik thought about her words and laid his head back in Tallis' lap. "I know that I am your friend." Erik drew in a very long breath. "I know that I want to love you for only one woman in my life has been as kind and as consistent as you have been."

"Madame," Tallis replied with a knowing nod, wondering if Erik would ever love her for the woman she was, the woman she wanted to be.

Erik, too, nodded, completely lost within his own emotions, unable to see the pain his words caused to the woman at whose feet he knelt. "Madame." Once again he raised his head. "What if I can never see Christine? Will you help me to find a way to let her go?"

"I will be here for you," Tallis promised, "but it is up to you to find the strength to let her go; that is something with which I cannot help."

"How did I ever become so weak?"

Tallis locked her eyes with Erik's. "You opened your heart and allowed yourself to love."

Erik stared at her before rising to his feet, reaching for Tallis' hands and raising her up. He hugged her lightly before drawing back, smiling at her. "You are far stronger and infinitely more wiser than I."

Tallis studied Erik's face, the unstable emotions that played in his gold eyes and bit down the words she wanted to say. Tallis also buried her own feelings, placing them within her heart and locking them there. This was no longer about her and what she wanted, this was about the vulnerable man standing before her, his hands resting lightly on her arms. This was about keeping him from completely breaking. This was about burying his past, finding his future and saving his soul. "Thank you," Tallis finally breathed.

"Grant me one request?" Erik asked.

"If I am able," Tallis told him, frightened of what he would ask.

A strange look crossed Erik's face. "If I am able," he said to himself. "Have I destroyed you, as well?"

Tallis could see his lips move but could not make out the words. "Erik?"

Erik finally focused his attention on something beyond himself. "Promise me that you shall not change. Promise me that you will not let me change you." He managed a wan smile. "For, in spite of, all your imagined lack of maturity and wanting to be something or someone you are not, you are everything I could ever want. You are sweet and loyal, honest and trusting. You are everything to which any woman should aspire."

"I promise I shall try my best," Tallis told him, painfully aware that Erik would still not say the words she longed to hear. "I can do no more."

"It is far more than I have ever done," Erik said softly.

They stared at each other for a long moment, each trying to read the other, desperate to see that for which they longed in the other's eyes. It was Erik who finally broke away, unable to bear the closing doors he saw within Tallis' eyes.

"Why did you come here today?" he wondered.

Tallis, too, could not bear what she saw within Erik's eyes - the memory of Christine blocking her way to his soul. "I came with food and drink," she said. "I have not seen you see Madame ... left ... and I was concerned for you." She sighed and lowered her shoulders, hoping some of the tension would ease. "Madame said to allow you your memories but to not allow you to wallow in them. I thought five days was coming far too close to allowing you to wallow."

Erik managed a small laugh. "You are about a day and half too late."

"It would appear I have much to learn."

"Much," Erik repeated. He shook his head to clear it of unwanted thoughts. "Now, what did you bring?" He grinned at her, hoping it was a grin. "You know the way to a man's heart ..."

"Is through his stomach," Tallis finished. She looked at Erik in complete innocence. "So I had heard."

"Would you join me?"

"If you promise to behave."

Erik finally gave Tallis an open, honest smile. "I shall be the very embodiment of propriety," he assured her.

"Then I shall stay," Tallis answered and once again found Erik's hands upon her arms.

"Please stay," he pleaded with her, asking for more than a mere hour or so at luncheon.

"Always," Tallis promised. "Always."

Tallis prayed she would be able to keep her promise.


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter Summary:**.Christine overhears a conversation between Raoul's sisters and his cousin, Henri, that prompts her to desperate action.

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

Charlotte Mahler stood at the open door of the conservatory - rigid and unbending - staring out at the brightly colored summer gardens, remembering happier times. She closed her eyes, memories playing out in her mind's eye. Visions of three children running and screeching as they chased each other over the graveled pathways slowly merged into young adults chasing after a golden-haired toddler. Charlotte watched as the laughing toddler grew into a curious adolescent who grew into a gentle young man. She could feel the tears begin at the corners of her eyes and reached up to dab at them with the lace handkerchief she had been pulling through her hands. Charlotte opened her eyes, her heart falling as she realized her visions were truly now memories, the only thing she had left of the young brother she had loved; she sniffled back her emotions.

"Oh, do stop, Charlotte," a female voice told her. "If you are going to cry, please do so." There was a note of resigned disgust in the voice. "You have been living with that unyielding husband of yours far too long."

Charlotte turned around to see her older sister, Desiree, sitting on a velvet chaise, her arm tucked through her cousin's. "Have a care as to what you say regarding my husband," Charlotte warned her sister.

"You used to be able to cry and shout and carry on when your heart moved you," Desiree continued. "Now you sigh and sniffle back your emotions. I know that is your husband's doing."

"I am not a out-of-control child any longer." Charlotte carefully closed the open door to the conservatory and took two steps back into the glass-enclosed room. "You have been screaming and crying as if your lover has died."

Desiree's blue eyes grew stormy. "I should warn you to have a care, dear Charlotte."

The man sitting at Desiree's side let out a very audible, very long sigh. "Please," Henri pleaded, his eyes downcast. "We should not be fighting amongst ourselves."

Desiree squeezed the arm she held. "Poor Henri," she said.

Charlotte quickly crossed to their sides, a hand going to Henri's shoulder. "We forget that you are in mourning, as well."

"And with such a burden now upon your shoulders," Desiree finished.

Henri kept his head down, his gleaming eyes hidden. "It is a burden I wish I did not have." He slowly shook his head. "But I shall do my best." Henri finally raised his head, staring off into the distance. "I shall do it for Raoul's memory."

Desiree patted the arm she held as Charlotte sat on Henri's other side, slipping her arm through his, the two women comforting the young man sandwiched between them. "I have no doubt that you shall do admirably."

"As do I," Charlotte assured him.

Henri straightened his shoulders. "I shall set Philippe as my example. He has guided this family well; I wish to do the same one day." He smiled sadly at the women seated beside him. "And I shall find an elegant woman to marry and give me children using you both as the embodiment of this ideal woman."

"Dear, sweet boy," Desiree whispered as she patted his cheek. "It is too bad that Raoul did not use his head when he married."

"Desiree!" Charlotte scolded.

"You know you felt the same," Desiree told her.

Charlotte lowered her eyes. "May Raoul forgive me but I did." A frown crossed her features. "Why Philippe ever abetted him I shall never know."

Desiree stood and began to pace back and forth. "He did it because he could not have Monique; you know such as well as I. He let Raoul have what he could not and look where it has gotten us - our brother murdered and in his grave!"

Charlotte was a bit shocked. "This is not Philippe's fault! It was those ... those ... horrible men!"

"And that little strumpet Raoul had the misfortune to marry!" Desiree stopped pacing to look at her sister. "If they had not been fighting, he would not have gone riding alone that day." She turned her attention to Henri. "Is that not correct?"

Henri shrugged and sighed. "It was what I saw."

Desiree resumed pacing. "And to think he left her everything! The bank accounts, the Paris home." She threw her hands up in disgust.

"She was his wife," Charlotte reminded her sister.

"I suppose." Some of the anger left Desiree and she sunk into a chair, leaning her head against its high back. "We should just be thankful there was no child. Can you imagine what would have happened had Christine been left with a child and eventual control of the accounts for the entire family? She was never bred or schooled for such a thing! There would have been nothing left!"

"What could we have done?" Henri wondered.

"We could have gained guardianship of the child," Desiree told him. "Taken it from her to be raised in the manner expected of Raoul's child and the heir to the family fortunes. We still wield enough power to do such a thing quietly and without scandal and there is enough money to buy her off since we know she only married Raoul for his money." Desiree glowered at her hands. "That has always been obvious to even the most casual observer."

"Except Philippe," Charlotte reminded her. "He has such a soft heart."

"Just like Raoul," Henri said and bit his bottom lip.

"Oh, but not you," Desiree said as a small smile crossed her face. "You are stronger than them. It is all that English blood in your veins. You will not make the same mistake as our brothers."

Henri laid a hand over his heart. "I promise."

"Good," Charlotte said with a sigh and rose to her feet, her hands reaching for Henri. "Why do we not take a stroll in the gardens?"

Desiree, too, rose to her feet, a hand going to her head. "That is the first intelligent thing you have said all day. The atmosphere in this place is stifling."

Henri and Charlotte crossed to Desiree's side, Henri taking her arm, before they walked out the door and into the gardens. So intent had they been on their anger and grief that they had not taken note of the woman who stood quietly by the bookcases at the back of the room. She had come to the conservatory searching for peace amongst the green plants and bright light and had risen to her feet when she heard other voices in the room. She had wanted to join them, thinking that the peace for which she had been searching could be found in the company of family. A single hand had gone over her mouth as she listened to their words before carefully hiding herself in the shadows behind the bookcase, her black gown allowing her to fade into the corner. She had heard them leave for the gardens, remaining still and in the shadows. When certain they were not coming back, she emerged from behind the bookcase and sank weakly into a chair.

"What am I going to do?" Christine whispered to herself, hands going protectively over her abdomen. "What are we going to do?" She sat quietly for several moments, her dark eyes flashing as she tried to think. Christine remembered the letter Raoul had given her the morning he had gone riding and disappeared from her life. She bit her bottom lip as a desperate idea crossed her mind. "I do not wish to do this," she said softly, closing her eyes in pain. "But I do not know what else to do." She rose to her feet, smoothing out the wrinkles of her gown before walking from the conservatory and down the hall, stopping at the door to Philippe's study. She raised her hand and paused before knocking lightly.

"Come," a voice called out.

Christine opened the door and looked in to see Philippe seated in the chair behind his desk. He had his back turned to the room and was staring blankly out the windows into the front drive. "May I have a moment?" Christine asked.

Philippe rose at the sound of her voice, turning to her, his eyes red and swollen from crying and lack of sleep. "You may have all the moments you wish," he told Christine as he crossed the room to meet her, taking her hands in his own and drawing her into his arms. "I do not know what I would do if you were not here."

"That is what I wish to speak with you about," Christine told him as Philippe drew back, concern on the face that looked so much like her husband's. A tiny voice of warning echoed in the corridors of her mind but Christine could not hear it through the blackness and desperation she was feeling. She allowed Philippe to keep her hands and lead her to the sofa where they both sat.

"What is it?" Philippe wondered. "You want to leave? Do you wish to return to Paris? I will do anything you ask. Go anywhere with you. "

Christine swallowed down her doubts and misgivings. "I am not yet ready to return to Paris," she lied and could feel a crack form in her soul at the look of relief that crossed Philippe's face.

"Thank God," Philippe breathed. "I was frightened for a moment," he continued. "I know I am being selfish but I need you here with me. My sisters mean well but they do not understand." Philippe looked puzzled. "How could they? They were not here; they do not know what you and I know." He gently squeezed the hands he held. "I look at you and I see all the reasons my brother loved you. I look at you and I can remember my brother as happy and content in his life. I look at you and it is like having the best part of my brother here with me." Philippe shook his head. "I am being quite selfish, am I not? Please forgive me; I just miss him so."

Another small crack formed in the cold ice that had replaced Christine's soul. "There is nothing to forgive," she assured Philippe. "We both miss him." She lowered her head knowing her request would hurt Philippe but the small lie she was about to tell was far less painful than the truth behind it. "That is why it is so hard for me to ask this but I should like to spend a week with Meg and Val." Christine lifted her eyes, almost abandoning the desperate idea she had formed; but then she felt the familiar nausea begin to wash over her and knew she had no choice. "You say you see Raoul when you look at me and I tell you that I see him in every corner of this house. I hear his voice on the breezes that blow through open windows. I lay my head down at night and I can smell his cologne on the linens." Now it was Christine's turn to shake her head. "I am going to go mad if I open one more door and he is not there."

"I had not thought ..."

"I did not wish to be a burden ..."

Philippe was shocked. "You are my brother's wife! How could you ever be a burden?"

"I do not know." Christine sighed. "I am just so confused and so lost and I do not even know how I get through the day." She winced at her next words. "The nights are worse for then come the nightmares. That is why I would like to go to the guest house to stay with Meg until she and Val return to Paris. She is the sister of my heart and I need her right now. She can do for me what no one here can for she knows me better than anyone but ..." Christine's voice drifted off. "But Raoul."

"Can you not ask her and her husband to join us here?"

"I need to get out of this house!" Christine said between clenched teeth. She relented at the look that crossed Philippe's face. "I know I am not expected to travel to anywhere but church for the next year and - at the moment - I do not even have the heart for that. I cannot even think beyond my next breath. I cannot even imagine tomorrow let alone another week, another month, another year. I cannot picture the rest of my life without Raoul. I would just like to go for the next week to a place where I did not spend time with Raoul so that I will not look for him at every sound."

Philippe let out a long, shuddering breath, biting back the tears that now always seemed to be so close to the surface. "I may have lost my brother but you have lost your husband, your friend. You have lost the rest of your life." He took back one of his hands, placing it gently on Christine's cheek. "You are still so young and I tend to forget that." He raised her other hand to his lips. "Go to your friends and do not think upon us or worry about us. Try to find some solace with the ones you love."

"I do love you," Christine told him as she reached out to hug Philippe before reaching back to study his face. "I will always love you," she whispered as she placed a kiss on his cheek.

"Go with God and my blessings," Philippe breathed back and watched as Christine stood. "And my assurances that no one will dare to say a thing to you regarding the fact that you have left this house."

"Thank you," Christine nodded as she turned her back to the room, feeling the cracks in her soul begin to multiply.

Within four hours, Christine had packed a carpetbag with the barest of essentials. She remembered laughing when Raoul told her that she should always pack black clothing when they traveled should the occasion ever arise for such attire. Now Christine thought how wise her husband had been and how gently he had taught her the lessons of the position in which she found herself. She had stood in front of her open wardrobe, staring at the brightly colored dresses she had brought with her from Paris, knowing they would never be worn again. She had run trembling fingers over the satins and laces, linens and silks, remembering the joy in her husband's eyes when she had worn each new outfit or gown. Christine had closed her eyes, desperately trying to block out the memory of her husband as he had helped her out of each outfit. She had closed the wardrobe and turned to the dresser, reaching in to retrieve a small velvet box hidden beneath a brightly colored shawl. "I have to protect her," Christine whispered as her hands had closed about the box and she offered up a prayer that her child would be the daughter Raoul had so desperately wanted.

Now she stood in the bright drawing room of the guest house at Chagny, watching as Meg and Val looked at her with compassion and confusion.

"But Christine," Meg was saying, "Val and I leave for Paris in the morning!"

Val was worried. "I do not think it is wise for you to be here alone. I should send for someone to be here with you."

Christine's hand went out involuntarily. "No, please!" She turned her attention to Meg. "I am not that far gone from the backstage of the opera; I know how to care for myself."

Meg crossed to her side, drawing Christine down to sit with her on a brocaded loveseat. "I know you do." Meg managed a small smile. "Maman taught us well, did she not?"

Christine nodded.

"But you have not even cried yet," Meg told her as she studied Christine's stoic face and pale complexion.

"I do not know where to find the tears," Christine admitted.

Val walked toward them, stopping at the side of the loveseat, squatting down, taking Christine's free hand in his own. "I am worried about you. I am worried that should we leave you here alone you something foolish may happen."

A look of such fierce determination crossed Christine's face that Meg and Val were both taken aback. "I am not going to do anything foolish," she told them and as quickly as the look had come over her, it was gone. "I just cannot stay in that house any longer. I cannot bear to walk into a room and not find Raoul. I cannot hear Philippe's voice for another moment and think it is Raoul." She turned to look at Meg, lowering her voice. "I cannot bear to sleep in that bed another night."

Meg nodded. "I understand." She looked puzzled. "I think." Meg turned to her husband. "It will be all right," she told him. "Why do you not go and tend to our luggage?"

Val nodded at her; he could take a hint. He turned to Christine. "When you return to Paris, I want you to come and stay with us. Raoul would not want you to be alone in that house." He managed a small smile as Christine opened her mouth. "And damn the proprieties. You know Raoul would say that, as well."

"He would," Christine agreed softly. "Thank you; I shall think upon it."

Val stood, taking one of Christine's hands to kiss it. "I am still worried about the wisdom of leaving you alone." He smiled as his wife glared at him. "But I relent beneath the wisdom of two women whom I hold in high regard." He turned on his heel and walked from the room, giving one last glance to the two women he was leaving. Val was truly worried about his friend's wife but knew her care would be better given by his wife than himself and he quietly closed the door.

"What am I going to do without him, Meg?" Christine whispered as she heard the click of the door.

"I ... I ...I ..." Meg stuttered, not knowing what she should do. "I do not know."

"The days are hard enough with every sound causing me to look for him; but the nights ..." Christine gripped Meg's hands tightly. "Oh Lord, Meg, the nights are worse! I can smell him on the pillow that I hold because I cannot hold him. I remember those beautiful hands and his breath in my ear." Christine looked panicked. "How am I to get through the rest of my life without him? How am I to get through the next night without him?"

Meg sighed. "Would you like me to stay with you tonight?"

Christine shook her head. "There is no sense in both of us being without our husband. Stay with Val and hold him close. Do not let him go, Meg. Promise me you shall never let him go!"

Meg was a bit startled when Christine pulled her close. "I promise."

Her words rang in Christine's mind through a long night in a strange bed where sleep still eluded her. Christine lay awake, staring at the empty side of the bed, a single hand reaching out to caress the undisturbed pillow and blankets. "You promised me," she whispered as her hand turned into a fist. "You promised me!" she hissed as her fist began to hit the pillow. Christine grabbed the pillow and pulled it to her heart. "You promised me," she said, still unable to find the tears she longed to shed.

Christine finally rose as the light began to creep beneath the closed drapes. She sat quietly on the edge of the bed as the spinning room slowed and the nausea passed. Christine stood and quickly dressed, slipping out of her room and down the stairs. She walked quietly out the front door, moving to sit in one of the many chairs that lined the covered porch. Christine sat motionless as she watched the dawn creep over the hills, slowly illuminating the summer countryside and briefly wondered if Raoul could see the sunrise from Heaven. Her attempts to find the answer were interrupted by the sound of wheels coming up the drive; it was why she waited silent and alone.

Christine rose and waited until the carriage had stopped before walking down the stairs to stand by its side, looking up at the man holding to the reins. "Monsieur," she began, "I have a favor to ask of you."

The man, his coach and team had been hired from a neighboring village and he did not know the young woman who stood before him. "If I am able," he replied.

"I know that you are taking the Baron and his wife as far as the Saint Joan Inn this day," Christine said. "Would it be possible for you to return in a day's time to ferry me to Lyon?"

The man was taken aback. "Lyon? That trip takes over a day with no stops." He stared at the young woman's black clothing. "I would need to change teams and have an extra driver. It would cost, Mademoiselle."

"Madame," Christine gently corrected him. "And money is not an issue. I wish to get to the train station in Lyon with as little notice as possible."

"Which train do you need to board?" he wondered.

"Any one that is going to Paris," Christine answered him.

There was something about the stoic woman who stared up at him and the driver found himself agreeing to the proposition placed before him. "If we leave by eight in the morning, I should be able to have you in Lyon for the noon train to Paris the next day."

"I will pay you well," Christine said and gave the man what she hoped was a genuine smile. "Thank you." She turned and walked up the stairs, disappearing into the small but elegant home.

The man sat still for several minutes, staring at the closed front door and wondering what had just happened. He sighed and shook his head, hopping down from his perch and tying the reins to the hitching post. He walked up the stairs and knocked on the front door. He waited for an answer, looking forward to loading luggage onto his coach, for luggage was something he could understand.

Two hours later he had loaded the last of the uncomplicated luggage onto the coach and resumed his perch, keeping an easy hand on his team's reins. He looked down at the two women who were embracing, a dignified man watching them.

"I am still concerned for you," Meg said as she pulled back from Christine's embrace.

"It shall be for just one more day and then I shall return to Philippe," Christine lied. "He will not allow anything to happen to me."

"And you promise to telegraph to let us know how you are doing and when you will be coming back to Paris," Val wanted to know.

Christine accepted his kisses on her cheeks. "I shall."

"I am so sorry," Meg told her. "I wish ... I wish ..."

Christine nodded. "So do I." She inhaled and straightened her shoulders. "Now go before I keep you here." She hugged Meg one more time. "Go and be happy. Please be happy."

"It is a promise," Meg whispered back, giving Christine one last kiss before taking the hand that Val held out, allowing him to place her in the coach.

Christine waved as Meg stuck her head out the window and watched as the coach slowly moved down the drive. She stood still, waiting until the coach carrying the ones she loved had disappeared from view before going back inside. Christine shut the door behind her and closed her eyes, listening to the silence that enveloped the house. She leaned briefly against the closed door before turning and entering the room to her right. She walked purposefully over to the shelves of books that lined one wall. Christine reached for a book and turned, flinging the book across the room where it hit the opposite wall with a satisfying thud. Two entire shelves of books followed the first one before Christine began to sway back and forth, her legs giving out as she fell to her knees.

"I hate you," she whispered. "I hate you." Her voice increasing in pitch and tempo. "I hate you. I hate you." Her hands began to beat against the hand-knotted carpet beneath them. "I hate you!" she screamed over and over until her throat hurt. Christine bent over and placed her head on the carpet. "I love you," she said.

But still the tears would not come.


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter Summary: **Christine prepares to leave Chagny and pays a final visit to Raoul's crypt. While there she meets some unanticipated "mourners".

CHAPTER THIRTY

The guesthouse at Chagny had been built at the turn of the previous century; its English born and bred architect designing it after the small country manors that dotted the high moors of his youth. It was a small house when compared to the chateau - only four bedrooms, a formal dining room and three receiving rooms. The architect had located the house in a small wooded area some hundred yards from the main drive. It was quiet and isolated in its location and guests were assured of their privacy. Yet it was not too far from the main house so guests could also come and go easily. It was the perfect house in the perfect setting.

Now on this day, two weeks after she had buried her husband, Christine stood staring at the guesthouse. Her dark eyes scanned each window before turning to look at the surrounding countryside. "I will remember this," she said softly as a hand reached for the child she carried, "and someday I will tell you all about it."

"Pardon?" a male voice asked.

Christine turned to see the carriage driver she had hired waiting patiently for her. Christine looked up to see her lone piece of luggage safely secured to the back of the coach, the door was open and waiting for her. "It is nothing," she told him as she took his offered hand, pausing as she stepped into the coach. "I have one last favor to ask of you." She briefly closed her eyes. "There is a small road not far from the main drive. You can see a chapel and a cemetery from the road."

The man nodded. "I think I saw it."

"I would like to stop there for a moment, if you would be so kind."

The man once again took note of the very plain black clothing the young woman wore. "As you wish, Madame," he remembered her correction from the previous day and his eyes glanced down to the hand he held and the expensive rings on the woman's third finger. He thought her far too young to be widow and thought she must be mourning a close friend or family member.

"Thank you," Christine said as she stepped into the coach, settling into the well-cushioned seat. She leaned back and closed her eyes, willing away the little concerns that knocked at the locked doors of her mind. "I have no other choice," she whispered to herself and felt the coach give a little jolt as the horses began to move. Christine opened her eyes again so that she could study the countryside that moved past; she knew she would commit each moment of the trip to Lyon to memory. "Someday," she promised her child. "Someday."

Christine felt another crack form in what was left of her soul as the coach stopped at the bottom of the drive to Chagny before turning right onto the main road. She was tempted to turn her gaze to the opening in the back wall of the coach so that she could see the spires of the chateau but Christine knew that would only further weaken her resolve. She had so little emotional strength left and she could let nothing draw from it until she was safely away, her child protected against a future where there would be no love except that of money. Her thoughts were once again interrupted by a jolt from coach and Christine reached out a hand to steady herself. She sat very still breathing in and out through her mouth to chase away the nausea that always seemed to accompany a rattling of her nerves.

"Madame?" the coachman said as he opened the door.

Christine took his extended hand and climbed from the coach. She stood for a moment, staring at the steeple of the chapel off in the distance, knowing the cemetery was right behind it. Christine gazed up at the sun and knew that it was still too early for anyone at the chateau to be out and she could feel the nervous nausea begin to settle. She would have the opportunity to say her final goodbye in private.

"Do you want me to escort you?" the coachman wondered. "It is a distance for an unescorted woman to walk alone." He shook his head. "And you cannot be seen from here once you turn the corner."

"I will be fine," Christine told him with a nod of her head. "There is no one here who would harm me." She managed a slight smile for him. "I shall return shortly."

The man shook his head, biting back the misgivings he felt turning his stomach. "As you wish," he said and watched as Christine walked down the road toward the chapel. His eyes did not leave her diminishing figure even after she had turned the corner of the road and disappeared from his view.

Christine walked slowly down the road that led to the chapel, turning her head, watching every tree, every flower, committing it all to memory. She wondered how many times Raoul had walked down this very same road as a child, giving his father and older siblings a difficult time about attending services. She wondered if he had scampered away from them, into the woods, laughing as they chased after him. Christine paused as she turned the corner and began to approach the chapel. It stood there, in the morning light, the sun reflecting bright jewel-colored flashes as its rays hit the stained-glass windows, an earthly symbol of Heaven's beauty. Christine stared at for a moment, her heart cold and empty and wondered if she would ever be able to see the beauty in any chapel ever again, before turning to walk down a gravel-strewn path.

She moved easily through the carefully manicured lawn and well-tended monuments. She looked neither right nor left but kept her gaze purposefully fixed upon the small stone mausoleum that sat at the very end of the path, protectively nestled by the woods behind it. A single hand reached into the reticule she carried, as Christine walked toward the small stone edifice, pulling out a blue velvet box. She could smell flowers as she drew closer and her nose wrinkled, a frown crossing her face.

"Roses," Christine muttered as she drew to a stop before the mausoleum, looking at all the new floral wreaths that had been placed at her husband's tomb. "Do they not know you would not have liked these?" Christine wondered softly as her feet carried her the last few steps. "I tried to tell them," she said softly as she stopped, a trembling hand reaching out to rest against the iron door to the crypt. "I tried to tell them you did not like roses but they did not listen to me." Christine's eyes closed, her hand tightening around the handle to the door. "There is no one to listen to me now."

Her eyes opened and she looked around, watching as birds flew into the morning sky and rays of sunlight danced in the shadows of the woods. Christine let go of the cold handle so that she could open the velvet box that she gripped in her other hand. "You always listened to me," she said as she sniffled. "Even when I was being foolish and silly you always found the time to listen to me." Christine slowly opened the box she held. "Except for the last time." She watched as the bright summer sun gleamed off the silver medallion and chain. "You were too angry to listen and I was too afraid to talk." Her fingers ran over the warming metal. "I deserved your anger but you did not deserve my fears." Christine's hand closed over the medallion. "Now you know what I could not say and why." She laughed softly and shook her head. "I can just hear your laughter and … and …" Christine's bottom lip trembled as her eyes closed. "And I can feel your hands on my face and hear your voice as you tell me how silly I am and how none of my fears would have ever mattered." She sniffled. "Or changed the love you felt for me."

"I am still bound by my fears." Christine opened her eyes. "But now they are different fears and for a different reason." Her hand opened and reached out to hang the Saint Joseph medallion on the door to Raoul's crypt. "Congratulations, my love," she said softly and rested her forehead against the iron door that was cooled by the shade of the surrounding trees. "You are going to be a father," she whispered.

Christine stood quietly, leaning against the door to the crypt, listening to the gentle rustling from the surrounding woods. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and could see her husband's smiling face, hear his delighted laughter in her ears, feel his hands wrap protectively over their child. Christine's tightly curled fingers straightened and she began to smack her open palms against the iron door. "Give him back to me," she snarled. "Just give him back to me!" She continued to hit the door until her palms grew numb. "I want him back," she breathed softly. "Please." There was no answer and Christine straightened, opening her eyes and looking down at her reddened palms. She raised her eyes to look curiously at her husband's resting place and Christine gently placed her hands against the door, reaching in for a final kiss. "I will always love you," she whispered.

"That is the same thing your husband said," a strange voice said.

Christine shrieked and whirled around to find a man standing behind her, his face hidden by a black cloth. Her eyes darted around as her mind struggled to find a means of escape. The feel of something cold against her cheek interrupted Christine's thoughts. She glanced down to see the barrel of a gun resting against her skin and Christine could feel her knees begin to give way. She opened her mouth to scream and felt a hand go over it.

"If you scream, you shall die," a vaguely familiar voice said in her ear. "And it would be such a shame to deprive the world of your beauty."

Christine could feel her heart pound. Huge frightened eyes looked to the unarmed man standing before her.

"Let her go," the first man said. "She is not going to do anything foolish."

Christine felt her head pulled backward, warm, moist breath against her ear.

"Your husband was so right," the voice said as the gun was lowered. "He warned us to stay away from you." His hand was removed. "You are a temptation."

Christine breathed deeply to steady her nerves. "You … you …" She locked her knees so that she would not crumble. "Bastards!"

"Such language," the voice behind her said.

"Why?" Christine wanted to know. "Why? You have the money why did you not let him go?"

The man before her crossed his arms over his chest. "That is of no concern to you."

"He was my husband!" she shrieked.

"Do you want to know what he wished to tell you?" The man raised an eyebrow at her. "Or do you wish to die?"

Christine froze as she felt the barrel of the gun press to the small of her back and she fought down the urge to reach for her child. "I do not believe you," Christine said as her head began to slowly shake.

The gun returned to caress her cheek. "Perros," the voice behind her whispered.

"Oh God," Christine breathed, closing her eyes as the world began to spin about her. "Raoul."

"He wanted you to know that he loved you since Perros and that he would always love you," a voice intruded into the swirling darkness behind Christine's closed eyelids. "And he wanted you to know he was sorry for what he said."

"Raoul," Christine said, her voice catching on her husband's name. "Why?" she asked the men as she opened her eyes. "Why?" There was no answer.

The masked man before her pointed down the path leading away from the cemetery. "I suggest you walk back down that path and forget everything that just happened here."

Christine held out a trembling hand. "Please," she pleaded.

"Go now," the voice associated with the gun told her. "Before I forget that I am a gentleman."

There was something in the laughter that came after the word 'gentleman' that caused a chill to creep from Christine's soul all the way up her spine. "Do not hurt me," she said in a shaky voice. "I will go."

"Now!" the masked man ordered her.

Christine swallowed deeply and somehow found the ability to put one foot in front of the other. She walked on trembling legs down the path, past the chapel, never looking back. She did not see the men as they removed the masks from their faces.

"I did what I told Edouard I would do," Francois said. "Let us leave before she sounds an alarm."

"She will do no such thing," Nico replied, as he stared at the door to Raoul's crypt.

Francois watched as Nico reached for the medallion hanging on the door. He was puzzled at the look that crossed Nico's face. "What is it?"

"A Saint Joseph medal," Nico whispered as he looked at the medallion Christine had left for Raoul. He looked up at Francois, a curious gleam in his eyes. "Do you know what this means?"

Francois shook his head. "No," he replied.

Nico's hand closed over the object it held. "Pain," he told Francois. A decidedly evil smile crossed his face. "Pain," he repeated as his eyes followed the black-clad figure that was disappearing from sight as it turned the corner beyond the chapel.

As she walked around the corner, Christine knew that the two men would no longer be able to see her but still she fought down the urge to run; she could do nothing that would endanger her child. Numb from head to toe, Christine could only focus on the coach and the man waiting for her at the end of the drive. She kept moving toward them, senses heightened, listening for every little sound, waiting for the loud crack that would end her life. Somehow she managed to keep a steady, even pace and the coach drew ever closer.

"Madame?" the coach's driver asked in a concerned tone as Christine finally reached the end of the drive where he waited.

"I am ready to leave," Christine whispered as she reached for the hand the man held out. She felt the gentle strength of his hand upon her own and her knees began to shake, her legs starting to give out.

"Madame!" the man exclaimed as he caught Christine before she could fall to the ground.

"Just help me into the coach," Christine managed. "I need to leave this place."

"I do not think that is wise," the man tried.

"Please," Christine hissed between clenched teeth. "I need to leave here. I need to get to Lyon."

The man looked at the woman before him, noting her pale skin, her large, frightened eyes. He could feel the strength of her grip on his hand, the trembling beneath the strength. He fought a brief, internal battle with his conscience and relented before the desperate woman in his arms. "You must promise me that should you become ill before we reach Lyon, you will allow me to stop and get assistance."

Christine could only nod. She kept a tight grip on the man's arm as he handed her into the coach. She managed a wavering smile for him as he patted her knee before closing the door. Christine heard him climb atop the coach and she felt a jolt, heard the familiar rattle of harnesses as the coach began to move forward. As the coach began to pick up speed, Christine began to shake uncontrollably and she collapsed, sliding from the leather-covered bench to the floor. She lay on the hard floor of the coach, curled into a fetal position, eyes closed, unwilling to look at a world she no longer understood. "Raoul," she kept repeating until her voice trailed off as sleep claimed her, her subconscious shutting down to protect Christine's tenuous hold on her sanity.

The remainder of the trip to Lyon was uneventful. The driver stopped at the Saint Joan Inn, changing his team, picking up an extra driver. The owners of the inn were familiar with the man and had prepared a basket of food and drink for him. The man turned the coach over to the new driver before opening the door to check on his passenger. He found the young woman seated on one of the leather benches, curled into a corner. He heaved a sigh of relief as he noted the pale color that had returned to her white cheeks. "You may wish to take a break," he began. "It will be several more hours before we stop again."

Christine looked at the lovely inn where she had stopped with Raoul and Arthur; she shook her head slightly. "I cannot go in there."

"There is a small house around back where the staff stays," he told her. "I can take you there, if you would like."

"I would," Christine nodded as she took his outstretched hand.

Thirty minutes later, the coach was once again heading toward Lyon. Christine had asked the original driver to join her inside for she could not see him trying to rest while sitting atop the coach, being jostled back and forth. He had given her the food basket and noted that she had only picked at the food, bypassing the wine and reaching for the water.

"Are you sure you are feeling quite well?" the man worried.

"I will be fine," Christine assured him. "It has just been a very trying time."

The man nodded at the rings that flashed on Christine's hand. "You should be happy, then, to return home to your husband."

Home. The word cut through Christine, opening new wounds. "Yes," she said as she turned to briefly look out the window. "Home." She turned her attention back to the man seated across from her. "I do not even know your name."

"Jean Lisle," the man answered.

"Monsieur Lisle," Christine said as she held out her hand. "I am Christine Soderlund." Christine used a surname remembered from a long-forgotten childhood. A childhood she had shared with a bright, golden-haired boy with an easy smile and a silly little laugh … Christine sighed and tried to shake away the memory of her husband. "Would you do me a final favor?"

"If I am able," Jean replied.

Christine reached into the reticule and pulled out a sealed envelope. "This is a letter that is addressed to the Comte de Chagny." She ran trembling fingers over Philippe's name. "It is important that he receive it." She raised her head to look at the man across from her. "But I do not wish him to receive it for another five days. Would be you able to deliver it to him five days from now?" She held out the letter between them.

Jean looked at the letter, a puzzled look crossing his face. He raised his eyes to study the woman seated opposite him.

"I can pay you well for your trouble."

Jean reached for the envelope, taking it into his hands before slipping it into his jacket pocket. "I would be glad to deliver this letter for you," he said. "I am not sure that I understand all of this."

"I cannot explain it to you," Christine told him. "I can assure you, though, that Phil …" she paused and shook her head. "That the Comte will receive you and be happy of the letter you give him."

Jean studied Christine quietly for a long moment. "I believe you," he replied.

"Thank you," Christine said as she turned her head to study the world passing beyond the windows of the coach.

The rest of the trip to Lyon passed without incident. The coach stopped in the dark of the night to once again change horses. Jean kept a careful guard on his passenger as she stepped from the coach to stretch her legs at the small inn where they had stopped. He had watched her from beneath his lids while she thought he had slept. Jean took note of the times when her hands had reached for her mouth, her head bending to her knees; the father of three recognizing the symptoms. He wondered at any kind of man who would allow a pregnant woman to travel such great distances on her own and especially for such an emotionally difficult time. Jean once again saw the expensive rings on Madame Soderlund's hand and thought he would never understand the ways of the rich and he finally closed his eyes, allowing sleep to claim him for a few hours.

Christine woke the next morning to bright sunlight as the coach entered the city of Lyon. She rubbed at her eyes and stretched as a feeling of relief and gratitude flooded over her; she was actually going to make it. A single hand reached for her child. "It will be all right, little one," she whispered. "We will be all right." Christine settled back and watched as the waking city moved past.

Finally the coach drew to a halt in front of a busy building on the city's far north side. Christine looked out the window and recognized the train station where she and Raoul had arrived a little over a month before. Christine sighed; how great a difference had those days had made in her life. Nothing would ever be the same again. There would no longer be trips to Lyon. There would no longer be a gentle hand on her back or soft lips to nuzzle against her neck. There would no longer be days full of happy laughter and nights full of contented sighs. Christine shook her head and wondered when the tears would come. She wondered when she would finally realize the fact that her husband was gone and would never be coming back. She prayed she would have the strength to follow through with what she needed to do. She prayed she would be able to move past her fears. Christine prayed she would finally find a way to grow into the woman Raoul always knew she could be.

"Madame," Jean asked as he opened the coach door and extended his hand to Christine.

"Thank you," Christine said as she stepped from the coach, taking the bag that Jean held in his other hand. "Thank you for getting me here. Thank you for not asking any questions." She reached into her reticule and handed a tight roll of francs to Jean. "This is for delivering the letter to the Comte." She rested her hand in Jean's as he took the money. "Should anyone question you, tell them the letter is from the Vicomtess," Christine said softly and disappeared into the growing crowd.


	31. Chapter 31

**Chapter Summary:** Raoul's family and friends begin to learn to live life without him. Philippe confronts his sisters and asks them for a favor. Henri is confronted by his demons. And begins to be haunted by a vision.

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

"Are you intending to stare out the window for the entire day?" Xavier wondered as he glanced at his wife. "I have always said you have lovely posture but I would much rather prefer to see your face."

Monique sighed and silently bit back the retort on her lips before turning to face her husband. She found Xavier in his favorite wing chair, long legs stretched out before him, feet resting on a heavily padded footstool. He had a book in his hands and was dressed casually as he lounged in the comfort of his own home. Monique wondered where his manners had gone as she did not see a black armband encircling his white shirt. "I am just worried for our friends and wondering what is happening at Chagny. We have not seen them for nigh on five days now."

"We cannot be there every minute of every day for the rest of their lives," Xavier said as he turned his attention back to the book he held in his hands. "There must come a time when Philippe and his sisters and Christine learn to live without Raoul and that, my dear, is something with which we cannot help."

"We are their friends," Monique reminded him. "It is our duty to help in any way that we can."

"And what did Philippe say?" Xavier asked as he kept his eyes on his book. "Did he not ask that we give them time? Did he not wish for us to resume our lives? Did he not ask us to stay away for the period of one week?"

"How can you be so cavalier about this?" Monique wondered, her voice edged with an angry frustration. "You just sit there, reading your book as if nothing has happened! And all the while your best friend has had his life destroyed!"

Xavier carefully closed his book. "I do not think," he began softly, "that it is Philippe whose life was destroyed."

"You know what I meant!"

"You would be wise to remember to whom you are speaking," came the softly spoken reply.

"I thought I was speaking with my husband," Monique replied in a soft, angry voice as she stared at the man seated before her. A hand went to her face, fingertips massaging the skin between finely arched brows. "I do not wish to fight with you," she relented.

"Nor I, you," Xavier replied as he put the book down and rose to his feet. He walked the few steps to his wife's side and took her hands in his own. "But I did not begin this disagreement."

Monique shook her head. "I did not mean to begin anything but sometimes I just do not understand you." She sighed. "Your best friend has lost his only brother in a most vile manner and you continue on with life as if nothing has changed." She shook the hands that held onto hers. "Everything has changed!"

"Everything has changed for Philippe; not for us," Xavier reminded her. "We are still here. We still have each other. I am very sorry for what has happened and I cannot even begin to fathom the grief that they must be feeling. I can only imagine it will be a grief that will last for years; perhaps, forever. And I know that we must honor convention and mourn in public," his hands moved to hold Monique about her waist. "But must we also live in sorrow during our private moments?"

"Where is the man that I married?" Monique wondered. "Where is the man who treated Raoul as if he were his own child? Where is the man who helped to end a centuries old feud?" She could feel her anger growing. "What is wrong with you?"

Xavier let his wife go. "I do not want to think upon it!" he shouted as he turned his back on her. "I do not want to think that we shall never see Raoul again! I do not want to think upon the last moments of his life! I want to stay in my home and have the illusion that everything is as it always has been! I want to be able to hide in the sanctuary of these walls! Is that so wrong?"

Monique stared at her husband's back, the taut muscles beneath the fine linen shirt. She hesitantly raised her hands, reaching out to him, uncertain of her actions. Monique saw her husband's shoulders shake once and her hands reached the rest of the way to him, turning him around and drawing him into her embrace. She moved a single hand to the back of his neck, pulling Xavier's head to her shoulder. Monique began to massage his neck and felt a chain beneath his collar and a swell of warm emotion flooded through her veins; Xavier was wearing his religious medallions again. Perhaps things were as he said and not as she perceived. "It will be all right," Monique whispered.

"What would I do without you?" Xavier whispered back. "What would I ever do without you?"

"Let us hope you never have to find out," Monique told him as she held and comforted the man to whom she had been married for nearly twenty years. Yet her thoughts still strayed to the grieving family across the valley who were slowly beginning to learn to live without their youngest sibling and she wondered what they were doing.

At that very same moment a pen was scratching its way across a bill as Philippe signed his name and handed the paper across the desk to Arthur. "Is that the last of it?" he wondered.

Arthur nodded and gathered up the pile of papers before him.

"What of," Philippe shook his head and drew a deep breath. "What of," he began again, "Raoul's business? Have you heard from Pierre?"

"Pierre has been in contact with Raoul's attorneys and they are handling what they can until Christine returns to Paris." Arthur looked at Philippe with a steady, even gaze. "She is going to have to deal with this sooner or later," he said. "There are things for which only she can care – the household accounts, certain terms and conditions of Raoul's will. You cannot allow her to hide away forever, Philippe. As hard as this is for all of you, life does go on and you must go on with it."

"Do you think I do not know as much?" Philippe's tone was bitter and angry. "I wake up each morning and go to bed each night and in the hours between those actions I somehow find the strength to walk and to breathe. I bury myself in work that would normally occupy your time and the time of my staff. Do you think I am unaware of the indulgences that each of you allows me? Each day brings back a small bit of my life thanks to your care and concern and still I hate you for it." Philippe stood and walked to the windows, looking out into the front drive, seeing his sisters walking arm-in-arm. "How can I live my life when my brother never got to live his? And while this life is difficult enough during the daylight hours, it is the hours between sleep and waking when my world falls apart again. My sleep is restless and full of nightmares that you cannot even begin to imagine. When I wake it is to my brother's voice calling for me, my body covered in sweat from battles I cannot remember. I did everything I could, everything they demanded and it was not enough." Philippe leaned his head against the window sash. "It was not enough," he whispered before turning back to face Arthur. "And the guilt I feel over listening to rumors and bringing Raoul and Christine here is overwhelming and has the ability to drive me mad." Philippe held up two fingers, very close to each other. "I am this close to wanting to sell this place and run away to hide forever."

Arthur was shocked. "You cannot mean that! What purpose could it possibly serve?"

"No," Philippe shrugged, "I do not mean it for it would do no good, whatsoever. I cannot outrun my guilt and my grief and I am aware of such things in my moments of rationality. But that is the reason why I am allowing Christine to hide at the guesthouse with her family. She is closer to losing her hold on sanity than any of us realize, I believe. She needs Meg and Val to listen to her words, to hold her hands, to just sit quietly with her. She needs to find a way to let Raoul go while holding to his memory. She needs to find the strength to continue to live before she must deal with the realities of the role which she must now assume." Philippe ran a hand through his hair. "She is so young to have endured so much sorrow. Let her have the next few days and then we shall all take her gently in hand and introduce her to her new responsibilities."

"You may wish to explain that to your sisters," Arthur muttered under his breath.

"Pardon?"

Arthur stood papers in hand, grateful for the routine of dealing with estate business. "I am perfectly aware that your sisters are grieving, as well," he said gently, "but I think they may believe some blame is to be laid at Christine's feet." He felt a jab of pain in his heart at the look on Philippe's face but Arthur had let his worries escape and he would not back down. "They have heard the same rumors as you and I think they may have heard more." Arthur sighed deeply. "I think they know of the separate rooms and the arguments."

Philippe's face darkened. "How dare they?" he snarled and began to cross the room. He was stopped by Arthur's hand on his arm.

"Gently, Philippe," Arthur told him. "They were born women of rank and brought up differently than Christine; you cannot change their mannerisms now. And they, too, are mourning the loss of their brother."

"I shall not forget," Philippe relented and left his study, moving down the hallway and out onto the front portico. He stood silently, watching as Desiree and Charlotte climbed the stairs that led upward from the main drive. The black gowns his sisters wore only highlighted their blonde hair and pale skin; as they drew closer, Philippe could see their red-rimmed eyes and felt his anger with them quickly dissipate. Arthur had been correct and Philippe, lost in his own grief and the worry over his brother's wife, had forgotten about the sisters he loved.

"What are you doing here?" Desiree wondered as she and Charlotte reached the portico.

"This is still my home," Philippe replied.

Desiree closed her eyes briefly. "Forgive me," she said softly. "My mind tends to stray."

"I understand," Philippe told her as he took both of their hands. "Come and sit with me for a moment." He led them to three chairs near the end of the portico. "I wish to speak with you about something," Philippe told them as they all sat.

Charlotte looked puzzled. "What is it? What is wrong?"

"I need to speak with you both about Christine," Philippe told them and waited for the fiery reactions for which he knew his sisters capable.

"I see," Charlotte replied, looking at her sister as Desiree studiously avoided Philippe's eyes and straightened her skirt.

"Do you?" Philippe wondered. "Why?" Neither woman had an answer for him. "I am still head of this family, no matter to whom you are married and how many children you may have. And I am waiting for an answer."

"Philippe," Charlotte began and cleared her throat. "You must admit that everyone seems to be coddling her a bit much; even given the situation."

"Charlotte! Do have a care for your tongue!" Desiree blurted out and glanced at her brother before lowering her eyes once again.

"I am going to forgive those words due to the grief we are all feeling," Philippe began, "but neither of you understands what want on in the two weeks before Raoul died. Now you will sit here and listen as I tell you what happened." Philippe's brow began to settle into a deep frown. "You are going to understand what Christine and I saw, what we knew and then – perhaps – you will both understand and find some of the compassion which I know exists in your souls."

"Is that really necessary?" Desiree began.

"As a matter, of fact, it is," Philippe interrupted her. "And I would thank you to remain silent for the next few minutes." He watched as Desiree and Charlotte sat still in their chairs, taking no pleasure in what he was about to do. "Do you know that it was Christine who found the paper with Raoul's fingernails inside?" Philippe saw the color drain from his sisters' faces. "Do you know that we also received his bloody hair and his bloody shirt? Did anyone bother to tell you that there was also the mark of a branding iron on that shirt?" Philippe watched as Charlotte held a trembling hand to her lips. "I thought not," he said. "Yet, in spite of her youth, during all of this, Christine managed to find the strength to hold to the belief that Raoul was coming home. Yes, she cried and, yes, it made her physically ill and she was not the only one." Philippe lowered his voice, assuming the paternal tone his sisters had known during the days of their - sometimes - foolish youth. "I wonder if either of you would have shown the same strength of character that Christine has over these last weeks."

"It is not her strength we are questioning," Desiree said as she finally raised her head to look at her brother. "It is what she felt for Raoul that we wonder about."

Now it was Philippe's turn to be shocked. "How dare you? What do you know of their marriage?" Shock was slowly beginning to turn to anger. "What could you possibly know of anything from your comfortable lives in Vienna and Rome?"

Desiree stuck out her chin. "Stories from France can reach beyond borders, Philippe!"

"Stories, my dear sister," Philippe shot back, "are just that – stories." He leaned back in his chair. "Shall I relate the rumors from the days of your youth?" He asked and turned to Charlotte. "Or yours? Shall I remind you of the scandals I managed to make disappear or numerous tines I prevented even the breath of a scandal from beginning?" Philippe watched as the color rose in the cheeks of both his sisters, taking a perverse pleasure in their discomfort. "I thought not." He sat forward and placed gentle hands on both of their knees. "If there is one truth in all of this horror, it is that Raoul loved Christine and she loved him; they were devoted to each other. If there were any disagreements between them, then I am sure it is something that happens in any marriage. Or shall I send telegrams to your husbands to satisfy my curiosity that neither of you have ever disagreed with them?" There was no answer from either woman. "I suspected as much."

"I am sorry," Charlotte told her brother softly.

Desiree sighed and yielded a bit of ground. "As am I."

Philippe was relieved. "That is what I wished to hear." He shook his head. "I know you are both anxious to return to your families." He managed a small smile. "And I know that you cannot stay here watching over me forever but I would ask one last favor of you."

Both sisters were very fond of their older brother.

"Anything," Desiree said.

"You do not even need to ask!" Charlotte finished.

"I need you both to stay for another two weeks and help me as I guide Christine through her new role." Philippe held up a hand as both women opened their mouths. "She is facing a challenge in a trying time. She must assume the role that Raoul held and that is going to be very difficult. She must learn to manage staff and funds and patronage. It is one thing to be the wife of a wealthy man but it is another thing – entirely – to be the person responsible for all that power and money. I can help Christine with the money and I know that Arthur and Pierre are eager to help, as well." Philippe's face softened and his tone grew earnest. "I need you both to help Christine learn the social aspects of her new life. You are both gracious and generous ladies," Philippe played his trump card, "and I know Raoul would smile down from Heaven were you to help the woman he loved so very much." Philippe watched as Charlotte's chin began to tremble and tears welled in the corners of Desiree's eyes and knew he had won.

_If only it could be this easy with Henri_, Philippe thought and wondered if he would have the strength to save his errant young cousin from the depths of depravity and scandal to which the young man could sink. _Thank God for Didier._

Didier did have his hands full with Henri and the friendship he felt was slowly being replaced by a worried anxiety. Didier did his best to will down his feelings of apprehension but found such action rather difficult as he watched Henri finish his fifth mug of ale within as many hours. Ever since his cousin's murder, Henri had been sinking further and further into an alcohol-laden abyss. Didier would watch as Henri alternated between rage and giddiness, sullen quietness and boisterous exuberance, deep sorrow and rich ecstasy. Didier looked into his second mug of ale, trying to find answers in the dark amber liquid only to find nothing there but the possibilities of a headache in the morning quickly followed by a lecture from Monique. The sound of a mug slammed on the table distracted Didier from his introspection.

"What are you hoping to find in that mug?" Henri wondered, a stupid smile on his face. "Other than warm ale that is quickly going stale."

"Henri," Didier said with a shake of his head.

Henri sighed and his shoulders visibly drooped. "What do you want from me, Didier?"

Didier shrugged. "I wish I knew."

Henri leaned back, his head going to rest against the wall as his arms crossed over his chest. "Shall I tell you?"

"Please," Didier replied in a slightly sarcastic tone.

"You – along with everyone else who knows me – wants me to be Raoul," Henri began. "All of you are looking to me to take his place, wishing me to be him." Henri frowned, his lips pouting. "Well, I cannot be my dear dead cousin. I cannot be a saint! I cannot sacrifice all my wants and desires for the happiness of others."

"I do not think …" Didier interrupted.

Henri sat up straight and leaned forward across the small table. "That is just it – you do not think. My parents do not think. My cousins do not think. No one ever thinks about Henri and what he wants. They only tell me what to do. My parents told me what to do and what I wanted." He slammed his hand on the table. "Has anyone ever once asked me what I wanted!"

"I know what you want," Didier replied evenly, refusing to allow his temper to swallow his better instincts. "You have always wanted what you could not have. You wanted to be Raoul. You wanted his wife." Didier's struggle with his temper started to fail. "You have everything you could ever want and it has never been enough! You have rich, beautiful women falling at your feet. You have a large inheritance and an allowance that could feed a small province for a year. And still it is not enough! You can be such an ass at times!"

Henri rose to his feet, knocking his chair over. "How dare you!"

Didier also rose to his feet. "I dare because I am the one person you can count as a true friend!"

"Friend?" Henri snorted, looking down his nose. "No friend or gentleman would take such a tone with me!"

"You really are an ass!" Didier told him and was stunned when Henri reached across the table and smacked his face.

"I shall thank you to never hold speech with me again!" Henri shouted and turned on his heel. He began to stride across the wooden floor of the inn, shoving away an elderly man who had the misfortune to be in his path. "Out of my, you old fool!" Henri spat.

"Sir!" a voice called out plaintively across the inn.

Henri turned to the voice. "Hold your tongue!" he spat at the bartender.

"You need to cool your head!" a female voice at Henri's arm said and Henri turned to face it, the angry retort on his lips cut short by the pitcher of water thrown over his head.

"You bitch!" Henri said as he swung at the barmaid.

Loud words between gentlemen could be understood. A drunken insult at an old man could be ignored. And bartenders were used to being insulted by drunken patrons but to raise a hand to a woman was a sin that was unforgivable. Henri had crossed a line and in his inebriated state was completely unaware of his action and the consequences it was about to bring.

Didier watched as Henri swung his hand at the young barmaid who had doused him with water. He was moving forward to intervene even as the girl lowered her head, avoiding the slap that would surely have connected with her cheek. Other patrons at the inn rose to their feet as Henri shoved the girl out of his way, making for the front door. One rather gruff middle-aged man grabbed Henri by the shoulders, pulling him backwards. Henri, his balance and judgement already affected by too much ale consumed in too short a time, stumbled into the man. Didier was too slow in crossing the barroom and was unable to stop Henri and the man from crashing to the floor.

"Peasant!" Henri hissed as he turned on the man, slapping away the hand that Didier held out to him.

"I will forgive you for I know you are grieving your cousin's death," the man on the floor began.

"I do not need forgiveness from the likes of you!" Henri spat.

"You are no gentleman," another man murmured.

Henri whirled on him. "And you are in no position to make judgements on me!"

"Sir," the bartender tried again as he crossed from behind the bar.

"Go to hell!" Henri shouted at all of the men who crowded round him, hands offered in help. Henri slapped at all of them from where he knelt on the floor, the men capably moving from his faltering reach, laughing at his attempts. "You can all just go to hell!"

"What is the meaning of this!" a stern voice demanded over the raucous din.

The inn grew silent as all eyes turned toward the opened front door.

"I asked a question," Xavier said. "And I expect an answer." His angry gaze turned from Henri on his knees to Didier who stood helplessly nearby. "Cousin?"

Didier opened and closed his mouth.

"I see," Xavier said. "I come to town expecting to join my cousin and his friend in a quiet drink and this is what I find? It is deplorable and a disgrace."

"Monsieur," the bartender tried.

Xavier raised a hand to his forehead and began to massage it. "I know," he assured the man. "Believe me, I know." He turned his attention to Henri who was starting to wobble. "Get him to his feet and get him on his horse." Xavier watched as two man placed their hands under Henri's shoulders and lifted him to his feet. They half-carried, half-dragged the young man toward the door, stopping by Xavier's side. "I will not mention this to Philippe," he whispered to Henri, taking note of the young man's fluttering eyelids. "But you will be spending the night at our home and there you will stay until you sober up and come to your senses." Xavier watched as the two men carried Henri out and he turned his attention to Didier. "You, as well," he commanded, his eyes following Didier until the young man was out in the yard and mounted on his horse before turning back to the silent crowd. "I crave your forgiveness for any insults or injuries that may have been perpetrated upon any person here." He nodded at the bartender. "Please send any bills that may have been incurred to my attention." He managed a smile for the assembled men. "And I shall cover meals and drinks for all who are here." There was applause and hoots that were cut off as Xavier held up a thin hand. "All I would ask is that news of what has happened here does not reach Chagny." The room grew silent. "They have suffered enough in these last weeks, they need do no more."

The bartender nodded about the room and turned his attention to Xavier. "No word shall reach Chagny from any here."

"Thank you," Xavier breathed and turned on his heel, exiting the inn, not looking forward to getting a drunk Henri back to his home and into a comfortable bed where he could sleep off his foolishness.

And in that drunken stupor into which Henri fell, he was haunted by dreams of laughing men with the faces of demons. Each time that Henri awoke, his last dream vision was of a bright flash of gold. Some small part of his mind knew that it was important but rationality and reason could not fight against the toxic cloud of alcohol and Henri would sink back into dreams of demons and flashes of gold.


	32. Chapter 32

**Chapter Summary:** Christine returns to Paris.

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

The telegrams had been sent from the station at Lyon – one to the banker whose name appeared on the bottom of a letter detailing a sizeable bank account, one to the young woman into whose hands she was placing her future and the future of her child. As she stepped into the small, private train compartment for which she had paid, she knew that neither person would fail her. She sighed as she settled onto the bench seat for the long journey to Paris and felt the tug from the car ahead of them as the train slowly began to move away from Lyon. It matched the tug on her heart as she left behind one life to start another. She knew her husband would have been disappointed with her decision but she also knew he would have understood why she made the choice she had. She could only hope his family would understand, as well; she shook her head. It was not his family she hoped would understand; it was his brother. It was the man who – whenever she looked upon him – was a painful reminder of what would never be. It was the person who was a vision of what she might have had after years of marriage – a man with an easy smile, laugh lines that crinkled his bright eyes, warm gold hair just beginning to be sprinkled with streaks of silver.

"God forgive me," Christine whispered as she closed her eyes and leaned her head against the paneled wall of the coach.

She had kept to her private compartment during the two day trip to Paris, only venturing out to purchase food, stretch her legs and attend to necessities at each stop. None had dared to bother the young woman dressed in funereal black, a matching bonnet on her head. Yet Christine still kept the door of her compartment locked; she was taking no chances after having encountered her husband's murderers at his tomb. Her mind could still not wrap itself around the fact that the same hands that had killed Raoul had touched her, that the same men who had taken such pleasure in tormenting her husband found the same pleasure in tormenting her. Christine had experienced madness before but that had been a madness born of desperation and unchecked emotion. She could not comprehend madness born of cruelty, madness born of simple madness. The mere beginning of such thoughts had the ability to turn her stomach as visions of Raoul in their hands swam behind closed eyelids and Christine would willfully force her mind from such horrors, turning them inward toward the child she carried.

"I promise she will know and love you," Christine whispered as her hands rested gently over her child, fingers intertwined. "She will love you as much as I." A lone fingertip massaged her wedding and engagement rings. "She will love you forever." Christine's eyes closed in prayer. _Let my child be a little girl_, came the silent supplication; _for Raoul's sake, please, let this be the daughter he wanted. _

Christine found that thoughts of a little girl with golden ringlets and blue eyes, a gentle laugh and the voice of an angel chased away dark thoughts and she clung to her vision. She clung to her child as if the baby she carried were a lifeline, her anchor to a life she could no longer fathom. Christine clung to her child as the one true reality in a world of nightmares. A world of nightmares that did not end as the coach she had hired at the Paris train station stopped in front of the home she had shared with Raoul. Christine listened as the driver climbed down from his high perch and her hands reached behind her head, drawing the widow's veil over her face. She sighed as she thought of Raoul and how pleased he would be that his gently taught lessons had not been in vain. Christine waited until the driver had opened the door before stepping from the coach. She paused briefly as she took note of the black mourning wreath on her front door; God! Was there no end?

"Are you sure you do not wish me to escort you?" the driver wondered.

"No, thank you," Christine said as she turned toward him, her face nearly invisible beneath the black crepe. She reached into her reticule and handed the man his wages, taking her lone carpetbag from his extended hand. "I can manage quite well on my own." Christine shook herself as the impact of those simple words stung at her heart; she would be managing on her own for the rest of her life.

The driver shook his head. "I think I shall wait here until I am sure you are safely inside."

"Thank you," Christine said softly and drew a deep breath, steeling her spine before walking up the five stairs to her front door. She paused briefly before the solid wooden door, a trembling hand held halfway to the doorknob. Christine could hear Raoul's laughter as he carried her, protesting, over the threshold the first time they had come to the townhouse as man and wife. She let out the breath she had been unwittingly holding; there would be no more laughter, no more strong arms to safely enfold her. Christine turned the knob and disappeared into her home as the driver watched from the curb.

The valet at the door looked up from his seat, at the sound of the front door opening and closing, a startled look on his face as the person before him drew the veil back from her face. "Madame!" he exclaimed as he jumped to his feet. "We did not know you were returning!"

Christine removed her veiled bonnet, giving it into the valet's outstretched hands. "It is all right," she said softly. "I did not wish to cause a scene."

The valet dropped his eyes. "May I say how sorry we all for what happened to Monsieur."

"Thank you," Christine told him, a sad smile on her face. "There is a driver out front who is concerned that I am safe. Would you please assure him that it is so?"

"At once, Madame," the valet replied softly.

"Vicomtess?" an amazed voice exclaimed and Christine turned to see Pierre Martin standing in the hallway.

"Pierre," Christine sighed and walked toward him, her hands extended.

Pierre crossed quickly to her side, taking the offered hands. "I did not know you were returning."

"I returned in the company of the Baron and his wife," Christine lied; a small part of her mind amazed at how easily the lies came. "I am only here briefly for I shall return to Chagny the day after tomorrow."

The joy he had felt at the sight of his employer's wife was quickly cut short by her words. Pierre realized that the world as he had known it was truly gone. "May I extend my sympathies?" he wondered. "And that of the staff? We were all shocked and sorrowed at the Vicomte's death."

"Thank you," Christine said, knowing he truly meant every word. Raoul's household had been devoted to him and they had quickly transferred that devotion to his bride. "Your words and sentiments mean a great deal to me and to Raoul's family."

"My duties," Pierre muttered to himself with a shake of his head. "I am forgetting myself. Shall I send for tea?"

"I would like that," Christine told him. "Have it brought to my sitting room and then I should like to speak with you." A slight frown crossed her face. "Where is my maid?"

"She is running errands, I believe," Pierre began, seeing the frown fade from Christine's face. "Mademoiselle Idellette is expected later this afternoon."

"It is well, then," Christine nodded. "I shall see you in my sitting room." She watched as Pierre headed toward the stairs that led to the kitchen before going the opposite way toward the sunny room at the front of the house she had claimed as her own. Christine purposefully ignored the door that led to her husband's study; she could not yet face what lay behind that closed portal to her past.

Christine walked through the open door of her sitting room and stood silently for a moment looking at the bright, yellow room. She could feel the ice beginning to spread through her veins again as she surveyed the comfortable furnishings, the personal touches she had brought to her new home. Her gaze lingered on the window seat, thoughts of Raoul handing her train tickets demanding her attention. He had always thought of her above all else. Even when she was being impossible and distant, he had thought of her comfort.

"Why did I not tell you then?" she wondered to herself.

"Pardon?" Pierre asked as he entered the room.

Christine turned to him, giving him a wistful look. "It is nothing," she said. Christine moved across the room, taking a seat upon a familiar sofa, motioning for Pierre to follow her. She waited until he was seated next to her. "I need your help," Christine began.

"Anything!" Pierre insisted. "I have been waiting to help." He opened and closed his mouth.

"You may say anything to me," Christine told him, taking pity upon him as she saw the pain etched across his face.

Pierre drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I am feeling, feeling," Pierre struggled with forming his sorrow into words. "I am feeling useless. I do not know what needs to be done. I do not know what I should be doing. I feel as if I am letting the Vicomte down." He hung his head. "I know I should not be saying these things to you."

Christine laid a gentle hand on his arm, glad of the chance to look to someone else's needs, glad of the distraction from her own sorrow and despair. "You could never let Raoul down." She smiled as Pierre raised his head. "He trusted you with everything and you never betrayed that trust. Now I am going to ask for that same trust."

"Gladly," Pierre said the relief evident in his voice and expression.

"I know there are great things and weighty matters that will demand my attention," Christine shook her head, "but I am not yet ready to face them." A knock came at the door. "Come," Christine called out and watched as a middle-aged woman entered, a tray holding a silver tea service in her hands. The woman walked across the room and placed the tray on the table before the sofa where Christine and Pierre sat. She stood silently for a moment, hands fiddling with her dark skirt. "It is all right, Madame Bonnet" Christine told her softly. "I know."

"We are all so sorry for your loss," the housekeeper told Christine. "And we – the staff – want to extend our sympathies to the Comte and his sisters."

"I shall tell them," Christine said, knowing that someday in the distant future she would, indeed, do so. "Please extend my thanks to the staff."

Madame Bonnet nodded and left, quietly closing the door behind her leaving three people in the room – Christine, Pierre and the ghost of the man they both loved.

Christine poured the tea, handing one cup to Pierre, studying the amber depths in her own, unable to find answers in them, before raising her eyes. "I know that there must be things that require Raoul's immediate attention." She sighed and corrected herself. "That would have required Raoul's attention. Is there anything that I can do? Any papers that I can sign?" She managed another small smile. "Any small things for which I can care?"

Pierre took a sip of his tea, his eyes tearing up. _She will be all right_, he thought and out loud, "There are several bills that require a signature."

Christine's complexion paled. "I am not ready to go into the study," she told him, her voice holding a slight note of panic. "If you will bring them to me …"

"Certainly," Pierre replied as he rose to his feet and paused. "There are also many notes of condolence that you may wish to see."

"Not yet," Christine breathed, her head shaking.

"I understand," Pierre said, honestly thinking that he did. "They will be there when you are strong enough."

Christine nodded, unsure of her voice. She watched as Pierre left the room to retrieve the business that was her responsibility for the moment. She placed her teacup back on the serving tray, hands reaching for her child. "I do not want condolences or letters," she muttered angrily and her mood saddened. "I want your father back." Christine quickly removed her hands, fixing a smile upon her face as Pierre re-entered the room, a stack of papers in his hands.

Two hours later, every bill that had been waiting for Raoul's signature upon his return from the country bore the signature of his widow. Christine had sat patiently, listening as Pierre told her what each paper meant, the amount of money her signature would transfer. She had signed each sheet in a shaky script, her head swimming, the room spinning faster and faster as the pile of completed papers steadily grew. Finally, as Christine laid down the pen, the nausea she had been battling since her first signature claimed her attention. "I think I am going to be sick," Christine whispered, the pale color in her face turning a sickly green. She bent over, her head going between her knees as her hands gripped the edge of the sofa table, her knuckles turning white.

Pierre was startled. "I should call for someone," he said, worry written on his face. Pierre moved to stand and found he was stopped by a thin hand that gripped his wrist with a force that he had never known.

"Do not call anyone," Christine warned, her words broken by the deep breaths she was drawing in to try and stop the nausea.

"But, Vicomtess …" Pierre tried.

"No one!" Christine hissed loudly.

Pierre stood, his wrist beginning to burn, watching helplessly as Christine remained bent over, her thin shoulders shaking from an effort he could not understand. He did not even realize he had been holding his breath until Christine slowly raised her head and Pierre could feel the fire in his lungs as he resumed breathing. "Vicomtess?" he asked softly.

"I am fine," Christine said, one hand wiping at small beads of sweat that had formed on her temples. "I did not realize how long of a journey it had been."

Pierre looked guilt-stricken. "I should never have allowed you to deal with those papers. I should have waited …"

"Please do not," Christine interrupted him. "I asked you for them." She let out a long breath. "I wanted to help. I wanted … no … I needed to have something to do." Christine laughed, a sad sound bordering on a sob. "I, too, am feeling useless. And lost." She briefly closed her eyes. "And so very empty," she breathed. "I also have not been feeling well." She extended her hands and Pierre took them, helping Christine to her feet; she kept hold of his hands, studying his face. "Raoul was so fond of you," she said gently. "Thank you for welcoming me and guiding me. Thank you for your patience and thank you for being a true friend."

Pierre was puzzled for it sounded as if the Vicomtess was bidding him goodbye. He mentally shook off that image and thought it was just the stress of the past weeks, the grief she was feeling. "Thank you," he told her. "I think that, perhaps, you may wish to rest."

"I should," Christine nodded her agreement and a strange look passed over her face. "Perhaps in the blue guest room; I cannot … I cannot …"

"Everything is kept ready, as always," Pierre assured her. "Shall I take you?"

"No," Christine replied. "I will be fine. Would you please see to the correspondence and send Marie to me when she returns?"

"Of course." Pierre was surprised when Christine leaned forward and kissed his cheek before quickly leaving the room.

Christine climbed the stairs to the second floor and paused at the top, seeing the closed double doors at the end of the carpeted hall. "Not yet," she said under her breath. "Not yet." She turned to the left, going down three doors and entering a bedchamber completely decorated in shades of blue. Christine crossed to the bed and sank down onto the soft duvet. Her legs were shaking and waves of nausea still rolled in her stomach; Christine held out empty hands before her face. "Why can I not cry?" She raised her eyes toward the ceiling. "Why? Why? Why?" Any answer that may have come was chased away by the sound of a knock at the door. "Come," Christine called out, a relieved smile crossing her face as Marie entered the room. "Thank God!"

"Madame," Marie said as she closed the door.

"You received my telegram, then?" Christine wondered as she rose to her feet. "And no one else knows?"

"I did," Marie nodded. "And they do not."

"Thank God," Christine said as she sank back to the bed.

"Madame!" Marie exclaimed as she quickly crossed to Christine's side. She was surprised when Christine grabbed her hands.

"It is just Christine now," Christine told her and pulled Marie down to sit next to her. "As of tomorrow, I am just Christine again."

Marie shook her head. "I wish I understood."

"I shall tell you someday," Christine promised and grew deadly earnest. "Has everything been done?"

"As you instructed. I have been to your banker and he had received your telegram. He was not pleased but has done as you instructed." Marie lowered her voice. "There is a large stack of bank drafts in small amounts packed into the bottom of the small trunk."

"And the name on the drafts?"

"Madame Soderlund," Marie replied. "I did as you asked and checked each one. I have also purchased train tickets to Boulogne and sent the luggage forward. Monsieur Martin believes it was sent to Chagny."

A weight lifted from Christine's shoulders. "Thank you, Marie, you do not know … tickets?"

"Monsieur le Vicomte would be wroth with me if I were to let you do this alone!"

"It does not matter," Christine said.

"Of course it does!" Marie was adamant. "There will be nothing here for me once you leave and you should not be alone at a time such as this." She looked a bit perplexed. "I do not understand why you feel you must leave but I do know that I am coming with you." Marie managed a small smile. "And it will give me the opportunity to become reacquainted with my brother and his family."

Christine tightened her grip on Marie's hands. "He does not know?"

"No!" Marie told her. "He will know what I wish him to know. He will know only what you wish me to tell him."

"And you told no one here where your brother lives."

Marie shook her head vigorously. "No one! Monsieur's staff only knows that we were acquainted from your time at the opera. They know nothing else." Marie was a bit surprised when Christine reached over and drew her into a hug.

"Thank you so much," Christine whispered and released Marie. "To know that you are trusting me without question … that you are willing to come with me …" Christine's bottom lip trembled but still no tears formed in her eyes. "It is more than I could have prayed for, more than I deserve and you will never know how grateful I am." She studied Marie for a moment. "Are you quite sure?"

"I am very sure," Marie nodded. "I just wish I understood why you are leaving your family,"

"When we are safely out of Paris and on the train to Boulogne, I will share my reasons with you," Christine replied. "I think you may understand. I hope you will for I am going to need a friend in the coming months and I pray that you will be that friend."

Marie smiled. "I shall certainly try." Marie stood. "Now I shall let you rest and finish seeing to the preparations. Shall I send dinner to this room?"

Christine ran a hand over her forehead, feeling an tired ache begin to overtake her mind and body. "I should like that. And you please instruct Cook to make it something cold for I am going to sleep and I do not wish to trouble them later."

"As you wish," Marie said and crossed the room, opening the door and pausing for a moment. "I shall place the tray on the table by the door in case you are resting."

"Thank you," Christine said, watching as Marie left the room, closing the door. Christine turned her attention to the bed, pulling back the duvet and lifting one of the pillows to her nose. She sniffed at it and could detect no remnant of Raoul's cologne. Christine put the pillow back and laid down on the bed, her eyes closing the instant her head hit the pillow.

Christine's sleep was deep and undisturbed by the nightmares that had plagued her for the last weeks. She slowly woke hours later; eyes blinking open to a darkened room. She was disoriented and rolled over, her arms reaching out. "Raoul," she whispered and as her arms closed around empty space, Christine's mind snapped back to reality and she grabbed a pillow, flinging it across the room.

Her anger raised Christine to her feet. It propelled her across the room to fling open the door, the sound of it hitting the wall echoing around the quiet floor. Anger guided her feet down the carpeted hallway to the double doors at the end. Thin fingers closed about the matching knobs as the talons of a predator closed around its prey. Christine's hands turned the knobs and she opened the doors, stepping into the bedroom she had shared with Raoul, her hands shoving the doors closed behind her. Christine stood silently for a moment, the tight snarl on her lips slowly easing.

"Raoul?" she asked into the dark stillness.


	33. Chapter 33

**Chapter Summary:** The ghosts of the memories that live in her Paris home haunt Christine. She goes to see Madame Giry and tells the older woman of her secret, her guilt, her desperate plans. And their conversation is overheard, their words cutting deep into the hearts of two bystanders.

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

"_Raoul," Christine laughed as her husband stepped away from the closed door, moving easily across the room to wrap his arms around her waist, his hands moving gently across the front of her satin gown. _

"_You sparkled like a diamond tonight," he whispered in her ear, a single hand moving to the buttons at the back of her gown._

"_Oh my," Christine said as she felt her husband's other hand massage its way up her abdomen and over her breast. She melted backward into his chest, her hands moving up to entangle themselves in his soft hair. "Oh I do like that," she whispered and heard her husband chuckle in her ear._

"_I know what else you like," Raoul whispered back._

_Christine tightened her fingers …_

On the doorknobs to which she clung, her eyes slowly opening as the memory slipped from her grasp, back into the darkness of the still bedroom, back into the dim recesses of her mind. "Oh, Raoul," Christine breathed sadly as she crossed the room, pausing in front of the wardrobe …

"_I feel so guilty," she said as she looked at the multi-colored gowns hanging in the wardrobe and could hear her husband laughing behind her. She turned to look at him. "I am being serious!"_

_Raoul sat on the edge of their bed, trying to look solemn and failing miserably. "I know," he managed as he tried to control his laughter._

_Christine was exasperated. "Raoul! If I keep wearing a new dress every night, people will think I only married you for your money!"_

"_If you do not wear a new dress every night, people will be scandalized and think I am a miser who is mistreating my wife."_

_Christine crossed the room to stand before him; her hands going about his neck as Raoul buried his head in her stomach, his arms wrapping about her thin waist. "You are the one person in this world who would never mistreat me," she told him as she leaned over …_

And buried her face in the pillow she held. The odor of Raoul's cologne wafted upward wrapping her in its spicy embrace, as she hugged the pillow tightly to her chest. Christine moved up the bed, allowing herself to be drawn back to a time when she knew there would always be assurance and comfort …

"_Please, do not cry," Raoul begged as Christine sat down on the edge of the bed, her arms wrapping about her waist._

"_I cannot help it," she replied and turned to look over her shoulder at the man lounging on the bed behind her. "I failed you again."_

_Raoul's hands reached out for her and drew back, as he thought better of his actions. "You did not fail me," he said softly._

_Christine sniffled and wiped at her tears. "But there is still no child. I know what rests on our having a child. I know how much you want a child and I desperately want to be a mother." Her chin trembled. "Yet I cannot seem to do something that comes so easily for every other woman." Her sobs overwhelmed her and Christine placed her head in her hands. She felt Raoul's gentle touch on her arms, pulling her down to rest beside him._

"_I cannot bear to see you weep, love," Raoul whispered. "There will be a child for us, of that I am sure. God will just do it in His own time." He smiled against the dark curls tickling his chin, kissing the head to which they were attached. "And just think of all the time we will have to practice."_

_Christine choked, the sound a cross between a laugh and a sob ..._

And still the tears would not come. Christine curled into a fetal position on Raoul's side of the bed, hugging his pillow to her chest. She lay there, in the darkened room she had shared with her husband, feeling wisps of memory close in about her. Christine squeezed her eyes shut against them, bright lights dancing on her closed eyelids and in those lights Christine could see the glow of Raoul's eyes as he would reach for her. In the stray breeze from an open window, she could feel his gentle fingertips as they danced over the lines of her neck, downward over curves, stopping to tickle behind knees as she squealed in delight. The call of a night bird followed the breeze into the room and caused Christine to clasp her hands over her ears as she heard Raoul's contented sigh as he drew her limp, satiated body into his embrace.

"I cannot do this," Christine whispered as she got to her feet, the memories turning into demons. "I cannot do this!" she cried as she bolted from the room, the demons hard on her heels.

"_There are so many rooms!"_

"_And you have free rein to do as you wish with them," he told her._

Christine fled down the upper hallway, running down the stairs, ignoring the banister.

"_This is far too grand! I will never be able to manage a household such as this!"_

"_You will," he told her as he took her hand, "and I shall be with you every step of the way. We are in this together. I will not let you falter and I know you shall never let me."_

Christine reached the bottom of the staircase and ignored the startled valet as she ran down the hallway, uncertain of her destination as she tried to escape the demons stalking her.

_She watched his face as he read the menu she handed him and bit her fingernail; for the first time she could find no expression on his refined features. "It is all wrong," she worried aloud. "I told you I was not yet ready to plan a whole dinner party." She was rather put out when he laughed._

"_It is perfect!" he told her as he placed the menu on the dining table, took her hand and drew it to his lips. "You really must start trusting your judgement." He smiled at her and she melted. "As much as I trust you."_

Christine flung open the door to Raoul's study and slammed it shut behind her. She leaned against the closed doors, eyes shut, chest heaving. As her panicked breathing eased, Christine listened to the silence about her and as she realized the only sound she could hear was the pounding of her pulse, she opened her eyes.

Moonlight streamed in through the French windows that led out into the back garden. It colored everything in the room pale silver, deepening the dark shadows where it could not reach. The room had an ethereal feel, almost as if it were another land in another time. Christine moved away from the door that kept the demons at bay and crossed the room, pausing in the midst of the light to look about her. Here, among the familiar things that had formed her husband's life, she found sanctuary. Here, with memories of Raoul staring at her from every corner, Christine could feel her demons begin to melt away. She moved to the chair behind Raoul's desk, sinking into the leather that had molded to his body. Christine's hands moved over the smooth edges of her husband's desk as trembling fingers searched for a familiar touch. Christine raised her eyes and saw her reflection smiling at her from the opposite wall.

"Is that how you saw me?" she asked into the silent room, remembering the day she had begun to sit for the artist Raoul had hired.

"_Madame," the artist opined, "I cannot do you justice if you do not smile."_

"_I feel silly," she had replied._

"_You do not look silly," a voice said from the doorway._

_She had looked up to see her husband standing there in his riding clothes, his hair slightly disheveled. She had blushed at the look he had given her, a smile crossing her lips._

"_That is what I meant!" the artist exclaimed and nodded to the man in the doorway. "I shall expect you to be here for every sitting."_

"Oh, Raoul," Christine sighed as she leaned back in her husband's chair, sinking into his familiar form. She closed her eyes; no longer able to fight the sleep that sought her out, as she felt Raoul's spirit wash over and through her. And it was there, in the room that had been her husband's sanctuary, that Christine slept the night away.

The next morning found Christine rested but still pale, the demons of the previous night waiting just beyond reach for her to make that last fatal mistake, waiting to ensnare her, waiting to take away her last tenuous hold to sanity. She knew they were there and she knew they waited and she knew they could not reach her in this place. Christine let out a long trembling sigh and allowed the gentle rocking motion of the coach to lull her into a sense of peace – no matter how fleeting. She could still feel her nerves tingling as she realized she was breaking the rules of etiquette she had been taught by venturing into the outside world. Christine knew she should have been locked in her home, mourning her loss but there was someone she needed to see. Someone she needed to make understand. Someone whose approval she needed.

"Madame," a voice called to her and Christine looked up, realizing the coach had stopped and her driver was holding out a hand.

Christine draped her black veil over her head; it was becoming a familiar comforting habit, something behind which she could hide. She took the hand that was extended and stepped from the coach, turning to look at the driver. "Wait here for me, please," she said softly and walked the few steps to the front door of the comfortable home. Christine raised her hand and knocked softly; she did not have to wait long for an answer.

The door opened to reveal a young woman, with straight brown hair and gray eyes. She was dressed simply in a skirt and blouse, an apron covering her clothes. "May I help you?" she asked.

Christine handed the young woman the card in her hand and watched the reaction that crossed the other woman's face. She could feel her heart breaking at the stunned and shocked look on the other woman's face; she had let Raoul down again by breaking the rules he had taught her.

The other woman raised her eyes and stepped aside. "Please come in," she said, allowing Christine to enter the home before closing the door. She watched as Christine drew back her widow's veil, her heart sinking as she saw the beauty and the tragedy that was her greatest nightmare. "I will let Madame know you are here," Tallis said.

"Thank you," Christine replied softly.

Tallis walked quickly and quietly down the hall to the room where she had left Madame Giry talking with her other guest, fighting back the urge to run and scream. She struggled to keep her composure even as she could feel her future slipping through her fingers. _I am imagining it,_ Tallis thought to herself. _It is only my imagination._ She opened the door to the sitting room.

"Who was at the door, my dear?" Antoinette asked as she looked up. "What is wrong?" she demanded as she saw the stricken look on Tallis' face.

Erik, too, had seen the look and he rose to his feet, ready to protect this woman who said she loved him without question.

Tallis purposefully ignored Erik as she crossed the room to place Christine's calling card into Antoinette's hand.

Erik looked at Antoinette, his apprehension growing as he watched the color drain from her face.

"Truly?" Antoinette asked as she raised her face to Tallis.

"Yes," Tallis replied simply.

"What is it?" Erik's temper and anxiety was growing by the moment. "What is wrong? Who is at the door?"

Tallis looked to Antoinette who nodded her head before turning to Erik, taking his hands in her own. "There is a young woman in widow's dress at the front door." She watched Erik's eyes grow wide. "It is your Christine," Tallis told him and waited for a violent reaction, waited for him to draw away from her. She felt as Erik's grip tightened on her hands and she winced at the pressure he exerted.

"She is not my Christine," he hissed between clenched teeth before turning to Antoinette. "I need to see her."

"Not now, Erik," Antoinette told him with a shake of her head. "She cannot have come all the way back to Paris without a reason." She watched as Erik opened his mouth and Antoinette stopped him with a raised hand. "Let me speak with her." Antoinette saw the indecision written across Erik's face. "Erik, for the love of all that is holy! Do you even know if Christine knows you yet live? Do you think she will be pleased to walk in here and find you breathing barely two weeks after she has buried her husband? A man, I might remind you, that you hated."

Erik stared at Antoinette and turned his attention back to Tallis. "She is not my Christine," he said again before flinging Tallis' hands away from himself and storming toward the door.

"Erik," Tallis called after him. "Please do not …"

"Stop!" Antoinette said simply, her tone of voice commanding and not to be ignored.

Erik paused at the door, his hand on the knob. "What do you want from me?"

"I want you to go to the kitchen and wait there," Antoinette ordered, knowing even Erik would not disobey her command. "I do not want Christine to see you." She emphasized her next words. "At all. Is that understood."

"Yes," Erik muttered under his breath.

"Pardon?" Antoinette wondered. "I did not quite hear that."

Erik half-turned his head, his visage red and angry. "I said I heard you."

Antoinette leaned back in her chair. "That is what I thought you said." She turned her attention to Tallis. "Bring Christine to me and then go to the kitchen and wait until I come for you."

"I do not need a babysitter," Erik said.

Antoinette saw what he could not, the tears in Tallis' eyes at his words. "No," she agreed. "You do not need a babysitter; you need a keeper."

Erik's shoulders drooped as some of his anger deflated at Antoinette's harsh words. "You need not worry about me," he said softly, his tone of voice bearing a resigned defeat. "I shall do nothing foolish."

"Do not tell me," Antoinette replied, knowing Erik would understand and she watched as he held out a hand to Tallis.

"I'll not do anything foolish," he repeated as Tallis took his offered hand, allowing him to draw her into his embrace.

Tallis buried her face in his shoulder as she felt his arms go about her. She could sense something different in the way he held her; gone was the gentle desperation with which she had grown familiar. It was replaced by a trembling anger, a passion that she had seen only felt once before in Erik's arms. Now as she once again witnessed the reaction a mere name could raise in Erik's breast, Tallis sensed something crack deep within as she realized she was not the one who had so stirred this passion. She burrowed her head further in Erik's shoulder, her eyes closing tightly as she tried to cling to her dreams, her illusions.

"I will be in the kitchen," Erik whispered to her as a means of assurance.

Tallis nodded her head, opening her eyes as Erik removed his arms from about her and left the room, quietly walking down the hall toward the kitchen. Tallis reached up to wipe at her eyes. "I should go," she said and left Antoinette alone in the room.

Antoinette raised her eyes to the finely plastered ceiling. "God," she prayed, "give me strength."

A moment later, her attention was pulled away as Tallis re-entered the room, Christine following closely behind. Antoinette was on her feet and across the room to take Christine in her arms. "Oh my dear," she said and drew back. "I must say that I am very glad to see you but what are you doing in Paris? Did the Comte come with you?"

"I am alone," Christine said softly.

Tallis turned her back and was stopped by the touch of Antoinette's hand on her arm.

"One moment," Antoinette said as she took Tallis' hand in her own, turning her around to face Christine. "Christine, this is my companion," Antoinette smiled at Tallis, "and my friend, Tallis Ordogne. Tallis, this is my other daughter," Antoinette turned her smile to Christine. "Christine, Vicomtess de Chagny."

Christine held out her hand. "It is just Christine"

Tallis took the offered hand and dropped a brief curtsey. "I am sorry for your loss, Madame."

"Thank you," Christine breathed, her eyes closing briefly.

Tallis turned to Antoinette. "I should go and attend to the kitchen."

"Go, child," Antoinette told her knowing that Tallis understood the unspoken meaning behind her words. She watched as Tallis left the room before taking Christine's hands and leading her to the sofa where they both sat. "What are you doing in Paris?" Antoinette asked again. "And alone, I might add."

Christine could not meet the older woman's eyes. "I am about to do something very foolish that will earn your displeasure," she said quietly. "I am running away."

Antoinette let go of Christine's hands. "Pardon?"

Christine rose to her feet and began to pace across the room. "I am running away," she repeated. "I am leaving Chagny and Paris forever. I cannot stay at Chagny any longer and I cannot bear to live in the house that Raoul and I shared."

"What you are feeling is normal considering the circumstances …" Antoinette began and she was cut off by the words that flowed rapidly from Christine.

"Raoul's family blames me for his death. We were having a disagreement and I could not tell him why and he thought there was another man." Christine raised a hand to the pounding in her temple. "And there was another person but I could not tell him and he did not understand and he thought I wanted a divorce."

"There was someone else?" Antoinette was shocked but found her question ignored by the woman lost in her own turmoil.

"And he went riding to give me time to decide what I wanted and he never came back. And those men did horrible things to him and then they killed him." Christine paused in her pacing, her eyes slowly closing. "And I heard Raoul's sisters say they thought I only married Raoul for his money. And then they said it was a good thing there was not a child because they would have had to take it from me so it would be raised properly. But they do not know that there is a baby. No one knows that there is a baby." Christine began to sway back and forth. "God, help me, Raoul did not even know."

Antoinette was shocked but rose to her feet, moving quickly to Christine's side, taking her by the arms.

"I am responsible for my husband's death because I could not tell him I was carrying our child," Christine whispered.

Antoinette was stunned and drew Christine back to the sofa, this time keeping hold of the highly-strung young woman so that she would remain still, capable of giving answers to questions Antoinette did not even begin to know how to ask. "You are pregnant?" was the first thing Antoinette asked. It was the first thing of which she needed to be sure. She watched Christine slowly nod her head. "And you never told Raoul?" Christine shook her head. "Dear God, child, why?"

Christine kept her eyes closed and her voice sounded hollow and distant. "Raoul and I tried so hard to have to a child and every month it was the same – no child. I was failing my husband, failing his family, his heritage. I heard the whispers regarding the mistake Raoul made by marrying so far beneath his station. I saw the disappointment in his eyes." Her chin began to tremble. "When I finally thought I was pregnant, I wanted to throw myself into Raoul's arms and tell him but I was so afraid."

"Of what?" Antoinette asked softly.

"Everything," Christine told her. "I am a prisoner of my fears." She turned her head toward the windows that overlooked the backyard, seeing shadows dance upon the clear panes. "I was never like that before … before …" Christine shook away the memory. "But Raoul understood and he was so patient and gentle. He always helped me to find a way past my fears. He was my strength, my belief." Christine turned back to Antoinette. "All I wanted was time. I wanted to be sure that I would not lose our child. I had heard too many stories of women who lost their babies in the first months. I just wanted to wait until the first months had passed and then I could tell Raoul safely and we could be happy. I was just so afraid to tell him, to see the joy in his eyes and what if I had lost our baby? I could not have borne the disappointment I would have brought to him." Christine sniffled back invisible tears. "Raoul was the one person in this world who believed in me, who trusted me, who never asked anything of me but that I was who I am. How could I let him down?"

The shock Antoinette was feeling caused her normally rational mind to wander in a million different directions; she focused on the one question uppermost in her mind. "When is the child due?"

"January," Christine told her.

Antoinette's mind raced through her thoughts, struggling to sort out feelings, ideas, answers. She set her lips in a fine line. "You must return to Chagny."

Christine struggled to pull away only to feel Antoinette's grip tighten on her arms. "I cannot," she insisted. "I cannot let them take my child!" Christine looked as if she wanted to cry. "This baby is all I have left of my husband. This baby is all I have left of the dreams that Raoul and I shared." Christine grew angry. "This baby is the last piece I have of the man I loved and I will allow no one to take her from me!"

Antoinette knew that set of Christine's chin; she had seen it far too often when the young dancer had to suffer under her corrections. "Christine," she tried again in a gentle tone, "this child is also all that Raoul's family has left of him."

"No!" Christine nearly screamed. "They cannot have my child!"

Antoinette sighed; Christine was still caught up in the dual, often deadly, throes of grief and guilt. She was not thinking clearly and all Antoinette could do was listen and try to guide the confused, desperate young woman. "What are you planning on doing?" she wondered. "Are you planning on telling Raoul's family about your child?"

Christine seemed to settle as she reached inside of herself, her gaze growing distant. "Raoul transferred a large sum of money to a bank account in my name when he thought I wanted to leave him. I have withdrawn the funds in small drafts under the name of Soderlund." She smiled. "I remembered the name from when I was small."

"It was your mother's maiden name," Antoinette told her.

Christine focused on her face. "Was it?" she asked and drifted away again. "Marie and I are going to Boulogne. She has family there and it is by the sea. Raoul and I met by the sea but I cannot return to Brittany for they will think to look for me there. No one will think to look for me in Boulogne." She focused again on Antoinette. "You will not tell? Promise me that should they come looking, you will not tell!"

"I am not happy about this," Antoinette said, "but I shall not tell; that is a promise. Now, will you tell them that there is a child?"

Christine nodded. "There is letter that is to be delivered to Philippe in two days time. It tells him everything I have told you." Christine began to shake. "I wish this could be different. I wish I could be the one to tell Philippe about my child but I cannot risk her future. I need to be sure that our child knows her father as I know him. I cannot and will not allow Raoul's child to be brought up in a world without love." The room started to spin. "Raoul would have loved and adored our baby. I am the reason he is dead. I owe him nothing less than to see that she is brought up with that adoration and love."

Antoinette drew Christine into her arms. "I know you love your child," she said softly as a single hand reached up to draw Christine's head to her shoulder. "And no matter what you may think, you are not responsible for your husband's death." Antoinette felt the head on her shoulder shake and she began to massage the neck beneath her hand. "And someday when you are thinking more clearly, you will realize the truth in those words." Antoinette rested her head against Christine's. "And when that time comes, you will also realize what it is you truly owe to yourself, your child and your husband's memory." She drew back and lifted Christine's face so that they looked each other in the eye. "Until that moment, I want you to care for yourself and this miracle you carry. And I want you to promise me that should you require anything, you will send for me. You need not face this alone."

"I promise," Christine replied softly. "When I know where I am staying, I will send a telegram."

"It is well." Antoinette nodded her head. "It is two days by train to Boulogne; I can be there whenever you need me."

Christine smiled wanly at her. "Can you answer one last question for me?

"As best I can," Antoinette replied.

"Why can I not cry?" Christine asked plaintively, as she placed herself back in Antoinette's arms, seeking the warmth and comfort the older woman had given since she had been a grieving child able to cry.

And out in the garden, just beyond sight of the window, another woman was finding herself drawn into a desperate embrace.

Tallis found she could do nothing but let Erik cling to her. Open hands levitated helplessly behind his back until they reached for his shoulder blades, fingertips tracing gentle circles over the well-defined muscles.

"There is a child," Erik whispered into her shoulder and turned his head to bury his face in the soft skin below her ear.

"I know," Tallis said; she, too, had overheard the conversation between Christine and Antoinette. When she had come to the kitchen, she had discovered an open back door and knew where Erik could be found. Tallis had left the kitchen, heading for the same windows through which she had overheard Erik's music playing and his conversation with Madame Giry that had sent her running away in tears. Tallis had found him there, at the window, listening to the voice of his angel, his face contorted in pain. She could only stand nearby waiting to comfort and to love, until he reached for her.

Erik drew back from Tallis' arms, studying her face with such grief that it took her breath away. "I am the reason for the fears," he told her softly, his hands moving gently down her arms to clasp her wrists. "I am the one who stole her innocence, her trust."

"You are not that man anymore," Tallis insisted softly.

There was a long moment of silence between them.

"Until I can earn her forgiveness," Erik began, lowering his eyes and drawing a deep breath. "Until I can restore that which I stole in my selfish greed, I am that man." He raised his head, a dangerous glow in the back of his eyes. "I am the beast," he snarled, a single hand going to Tallis cheek, "and you deserve the man, not the beast."

Tallis melted into Erik's touch, her eyes closing. And suddenly the touch was gone, leaving only the warmth of summer air in its place. Tallis opened her eyes to see Erik running across the back lawn, disappearing into the woods. She began to reach out a hand to him and thought better of it, knowing it was a useless gesture. A sob escaped her lips as she sunk to her knees.

"Oh, Erik."


	34. Chapter 34

**Chapter Summary:** The police sort clues as they try to piece together the puzzle surrounding Raoul's abduction and murder. Henri is haunted by a vision to which he cannot hold. Philippe, his family and friends are shocked and stunned by Christine's letter. And high in the hills outside of Grenoble, someone tormented by a Saint Joseph medallion …

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

Chief Inspector Robert Pichette sat in his office, the end of his pen tapping against the desk as his hand moved nervously up and down. It was a habit that proved irritating to his colleagues but helped him to think. He found the rhythmic tap-tap-tap of metal against wood distracted his conscious mind, clearing the way for his subconscious to wander freely, to make important associations with random facts, to connect disjointed sights into focused pictures, to collect missing pieces and form them into a completed puzzle. Pichette had used this method of thinking nearly his entire career; yet on this day, it seemed to be failing him. On this day he found on solace, no hidden wisdom, no sudden flashes of knowledge in the sound of pen against desk - all it did was annoy him. A knock came at the closed door to his office. Grateful for the distraction, Pichette put the pen down and called out, "Come."

Guy Rosseau entered the office and stood at attention just inside the door he had closed behind him. "You sent for me, sir?"

"I did," Pichette said and waved Guy to one of chairs in front of his simple desk. He waited until Guy had taken the seat before continuing. "Have there been any new developments in the de Chagny case?"

Guy shook his head. "No, sir," he replied as a small smile twitched at his lips. "Not since you asked me the same question yesterday."

Pichette let the small breach of etiquette pass; he was truly fond of the young detective and was grooming the man to one day take his own position. "I am growing old, Rosseau; remind me of what we do know."

Guy straightened in his chair, composing his hands in his lap. "We do not know much," he had to admit. "We know that there has been no sign of the ransom money. We know that there has been no untoward gossip from the underbelly of society."

Pichette leaned back in his chair, a disgusted frown crossing his face. "We really do not know much, do we?"

Guy twisted his head to one side. "We do know that a local pickpocket named Edouard Durant has not been seen for some time."

"This is important?"

"Perhaps not," Guy shrugged. "He is the type of man who fades in and out of even the dregs of society. He is known as an honest man – well – as honest as that type of man can be." A look of puzzled concentration crossed his face. "We also know that he is acquainted with one Francois Amerlaine, who has also not been seen in Lyon in the last six weeks or so."

So many facts had been swirling in Pichette's head since the day he had returned from Chagny after the unsuccessful ransom delivery that the names of Durant and Amerlaine had completely slipped his mind. "Why is this important?" he wondered. "Lyon is a big city – no matter what Paris may think of us – our seedier residents come and go with impunity and with little notice taken, even less concern given."

"It matters," Guy replied, "because Francois Amerlaine had once served in the army and also worked in the mines when he returned." He paused for effect. "And he was an expert in explosives," he finished.

Pichette sat upright in his chair, his eyes narrowing. "You interest me greatly."

"I thought I might."

The pen began tapping again. "What are you doing about this intriguing information?"

Guy, too, sat straighter. "Word has been sent to the streets that there is a sizeable sum for any who will come forward with credible information regarding the whereabouts of either Durant of Amerlaine."

Pichette fixed his subordinate with a knowing look. "I do not remember signing any papers authorizing such a transfer of government funds."

"They are private funds," Guy told him softly, "from my own pocket." He shook his head. "No family – regardless of their station – deserves to suffer through the murder of a loved one. That it was preceded by such unnecessary violence makes it all that more pointless. I cannot let this one go."

"Nor can I," Pichette said. "I tell you this in confidence – there are those in Paris who are watching this case very closely and who are making rather pointed noises regarding its outcome. The de Chagny's are a very old, very wealthy and very powerful family with influential friends in very high places; it does not make our job any easier." He allowed a tiny smile to cross his lips. "I shall match your funds dollar for dollar for the correct information. Let that word go out onto the street."

"Consider it done."

"Good." Pichette once again leaned back in his chair. "I have been ordered to report our progress or lack, thereof, to the Comte. I leave for Chagny on the morrow. It shall be nice to give him at least the hope of a lead in the murder of his brother. I do not wish to go there with empty hands."

Empty hands were also the concern of Henri de Chagny who sat on the edge of his bed in _Côté de Vallée_, the home of Xavier and Monique de la Censiere – staring into his own empty hands. He studied them closely, the concentration only adding to the headache he already possessed, yet Henri could find nothing in them. He could find no answers or guidance, no meaning to the flashing gold cross that now haunted his every waking and sleeping moment. It was always there - the flashing gold cross that taunted and mocked him - always staying just beyond his physical and emotional reach.

Slowly raising bloodshot eyes to the bright sun streaming in through the unshaded window, Henri snarled, "What do you want from me?" and found that there was no answering reply. "What do you want from me?" Henri repeated, as he looked heavenward; there was still no answer. "I cannot do this," Henri said to himself as his eyes closed and his empty hands balled in to fists.

After the fight at the inn, Henri had been dragged back to Cote de Valleeto sober up before returning to Chagny. His first day of sleep had been interrupted by bouts of vomiting that seemed to rip the stomach from his very body and visions of a flashing gold cross that ripped sanity from his mind. Henri was certain, as he lay on the bed, shaking and covered in sweat, that God was punishing him for his irreverence during his cousin's funeral and his behavior toward his family in the days, weeks, months and years before. The next day fared no better for Henri as the effects of a long overdue hangover continued to linger, bringing with it that awful message from God. He had stayed on his bed, the washbasin close by; his head pounded, his throat torn raw from stomach acid, coughing up blood when nothing else remained to lose. And even as the hangover faded into a horrible memory, the flashes of a gold cross remained to torment the troubled young man.

Henri finally bent over, closing his eyes and slipping his head into his hands. Now, two days later, the hangover was gone, his mind and body free of the poison he had so willingly poured into them but the vision lingered. The image of a gold cross would flash across Henri's mind at random times throughout the day and turn into startling dreams during the dark hours of the night. He could not escape it, could not outrun it and could not understand it. "What have I done to deserve this?" he moaned softly.

A knock at the door pulled Henri from the troubled meanderings of his mind. He looked up as Didier stuck his head in the door.

"Are you feeling up to seeing people?" Didier asked and stepped into the room as Henri weakly waved a hand at him.

"You," Henri whispered as he raised his head, his eyes still closed, "always."

Didier stayed near the door, looking at his friend, concerned over what he did not see. "Are you quite sure you are feeling well? You do not seem like yourself."

Henri finally opened his eyes, turning to look at Didier. "I do not believe I am myself," he replied in a pained tone, "and I am damn sure I do not like what I am becoming."

Didier crossed the room to lounge against the dresser facing Henri. "What does that mean?"

"Do you believe in God?" Henri asked.

"Of course."

"Do you think He is a vengeful God?"

Didier's concern was rapidly being replaced by worry. "What are you saying?"

Henri ran trembling hands through his mussed hair, not caring if fingers tangled in knots that pulled strands from his scalp. "I think … I wonder …" Henri's eyes blinked. "I think I might be being punished for something." His head shook. "I think I might be being punished for what I did to Christine." His head once again fell into his hands. "What I tried to do to her."

"I think that might be the hangover talking," Didier snorted.

Henri again raised his head, his visage deadly earnest. "No, it is not," he insisted.

"Then, I do not know." Didier shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. "I do not believe that God seeks out a single person for punishment. I do not believe He is as vengeful as the priests would have us believe."

"Then it is me," Henri said softly, his eyes filling with pain, "and I am going mad."

"What are you talking about?" Didier was confused and exasperated.

"I keep seeing flashes in my mind," Henri began, a look of disgust crossing his face. "They are of a golden cross and it does not matter the time of day, whether I am awake or asleep – this damn vision is always there. It is haunting me, Didier! It is going to drive me mad!" Henri's voice had been slowly rising until he very nearly shouted the last sentence.

Didier was silent for a moment as he thought. "Maybe," he finally said, "you just need some time away from here." He waved his arms wide. "From all of this." He managed a small smile. "I know of a hotel in the mountains not far from here. It is quiet and secluded and I think you might find it restful."

"Perhaps."

"I actually came in to tell you that my cousins and I are leaving for Chagny within the hour. They wanted to know if you wished to accompany us."

Henri nodded his head. "Yes, I think I shall." He slowly rose to his feet. "I think I need to speak with Philippe."

Little did Philippe know as, several hours later, he sat in the main reception room of Chagny surrounded by friends and family that the world outside was beating a path to his door, ready once again, to change his forever. All Philippe knew at the moment was that it was comforting to hear the low murmur of voices coming from the corners of the room, to see living, breathing bodies standing and sitting in his home. It had already been too long since anything but tears had been shed within the walls of Chagny and Philippe was feeling a relieved guilt as his life began the process of returning to normal.

_As normal as it can be without you,_ he thought to the one piece that was missing, the one piece of the puzzle that made up his family, the one piece that would never return. I know you would want us to resume living, to return to life. Philippe closed his eyes, a single finger reaching up to massage his forehead. _But it is so hard for I miss you so much. It was different before when you were not here for I knew you were only in Paris. Now …_ Philippe felt a gentle hand on his arm, a voice calling his name and he opened his eyes.

"Philippe," Monique tried again.

A sheepish half-smile crossed Philippe's face. "I am here," he told her and sighed. "I was just thinking how pleased Raoul would be to see life coming back into this house," he shook his head, "and how guilty I am feeling because it has."

Monique shook her head, a stern look crossing her face. "You know Raoul would not be happy if he could hear you say such a thing."

Philippe heaved a great sigh. "I know, I know." He took the hands Monique offered and rose to his feet.

"Time," Monique told him, "you just need time."

"I wonder if there will ever be enough time," Philippe muttered to no one in particular.

"And I wonder how long it will take Arthur to bring Christine back from the guest house," Xavier said as he approached his wife and friend. He laid a comforting hand on Philippe's arm. "You are looking better, I will say that. I hope this week has done Christine the same good." He looked at his wife. "I must tell you that Monique was none-too-pleased that I followed your instructions and kept us away."

"And I thank you for that," Philippe assured him. "My sisters and I just needed the time to ourselves to ..." Philippe could not find the words.

"It is all right, I understand." Xavier looked at the mantle clock slowly ticking away the afternoon. "Should Arthur not have returned by now?"

"I still cannot believe you allowed Christine to spend time in that guest house," Desiree said from across the room.

"She should have been here with us," Charlotte finished.

"We have been over this," Philippe told his sisters in a long-suffering voice. "You know she wanted time to be with her family."

The sound of knock on the door distracted whatever words may have been on the lips of the two sisters; everyone turned toward the door as Philippe called out to enter the room. Hearts dropped as the valet from the front door entered the room.

"Yes?" Philippe wondered.

"Pardon the intrusion, Monsieur le Comte," the valet began, "but Senor Gallardo is at the front door and is requesting to see the Vicomtess."

Philippe looked perplexed. "Have him come in," he said and turned to look at Monique as the valet left the room. "Did …" Philippe paused and swallowed before continuing. "Did Raoul not have Christine see the physician the day that you both went shopping?"

Monique nodded. "He did and Christine assured us that nothing was wrong – that it was just a small case of nerves."

All eyes returned to the door as Juan Antonio Gallardo, the physician who cared for the populace of the valley surrounding Chagny and Cote de Vallee, entered the room. Philippe crossed to the physician, meeting him halfway, hand extended in greeting.

"I am so sorry for your loss," Juan Antonio told him as he warmly clasped Philippe's hand.

"Thank you," Philippe told him. "I understand you wish to see my sister?"

Juan Antonio nodded. "I realize this is a difficult time for her," his gaze scanned the room, "for all of you but I am concerned for the Vicomtess' health." He struggled with the knowledge he held. "I know she was suffering from a nervous anxiety when she first came to see me; I just wish to assure myself that she is faring as well as can be expected given the circumstances."

"She has been staying at the guest house with her family," Philippe told him. "I expect her back shortly. Will you not join us?"

Before the physician could answer, Arthur came through the door, disheveled, breathing heavily and alone. "She is gone," he said simply.

A stunned silence met his words.

"Who?" Xavier wondered aloud and voiced the question suddenly uppermost in everyone's mind. "Christine?"

Arthur held onto the door as he struggled to catch his breath. "Yes."

"What!" Philippe exploded, taking a step forward. Only the grip of Xavier's hand on his arm prevented Philippe from assaulting Arthur.

"How could you let her leave?" Juan Antonio asked, his worry growing exponentially.

"No one let her," Philippe said. "No one knew." He turned his attention back to Arthur. "What has happened?"

Arthur began slowly walking toward Philippe. "I went to the guest house and it was empty. It appears as if no one has been there for several days." His expression was deeply pained. "I found the library torn apart; there were shelves of books tossed across the room."

Another knock on the door interrupted Arthur.

"What!" Philippe bellowed as the valet once again appeared.

"Monsieur, please," the valet cringed. "There is a man at the front door bearing a letter for you. He says it is from the Vicomtess."

"Bring him to me immediately," Philippe commanded.

Barely a moment later, a middle-aged man, simply dressed, walked rather apprehensively into the room. He held a creamy linen envelope between his hands. "Begging your pardon, Monsieur," he said softly. "My name is Jean Lisle; I am a private coach driver."

Philippe's foot tapped impatiently.

"Please, continue," Xavier told the man gently, trying desperately to diffuse the situation.

"Five days ago, I drove a young woman to the train station in Lyon. She handed me this envelope on the journey, telling me to bring it here on this day. She said if I was to encounter any trouble to say it came from the Vicomtess," Jean finished as he held out the envelope.

Philippe crossed to his side, snatching the envelope from the man's hand. "Oh, God," Philippe breathed, recognizing the writing. He quickly tore open the envelope as those in the room gathered about him, his worst fears realized as he saw the signature at the bottom. _"Dearest Philippe,"_ he began to read aloud, _"I misled you when I said I was coming to the guest house to stay with Meg and Val for they left for Paris the day after I arrived. Now I find that there are not words to tell you how sorry I am for what I must say and what I am about to do." _The women sank into the nearest chairs, fear tingling at the base of their spines. _"I know that everyone places the ultimate blame for Raoul's death at my feet because of the disagreement we were having."_ Philippe's expression began to harden and he could not look at the people about him. _"That there was a problem is the truth. That Raoul believed there was another person in my life is also the truth. That there is another person in my life is the final truth. It is also the reason I must leave Chagny and Paris forever."_ Philippe could feel his heart begin to race. _"I know the terms of your will for Raoul insisted I know as much about the family's business as possible. I know what rested on any child Raoul and I might have had. And I overheard a conversation wherein someone said it was a good thing I never had a child because of the control the child would have placed in my hands. It was also said that my child would have had to be taken from me to be raised properly."  
_  
"Oh God," Henri breathed as he rose to his feet and stumbled toward the windows overlooking the front drive, sagging against them. He felt a hand on his shoulder and was grateful for the friendship of at least one person in the world.

Philippe's angry glance turned from Henri and Didier to his blushing sisters who could not meet his eyes before turning back to the letter in his hands. _"The ultimate truth in all of this tragedy, the truth I was too frightened to share with Raoul, the truth that led to our fight and his death is that there is a child."_

A shocked silence descended upon the sunny reception room. Philippe turned to the doctor. "You knew?" he accused.

Juan Antonio set his shoulders. "I did," he said, feeling free to answer since the Vicomtess' letter relayed the information. "It is why she came to me but I could say nothing because of the confidentiality between physician and patient. It is why I came today; to assure myself that she and her child were well given the recent tragedy."

Philippe could find no words and returned to the letter he held in his hands_. "Raoul and I waited so long for this baby. I only wanted the time to assure myself that I would not lose the child that Raoul and I wanted so desperately; that is why I did not tell him. That is why I told no one. Raoul would have adored our baby and I owe it to his memory, to his patience and gentleness, to his friendship, to the love he always showed me regardless of the silly girl I could be to raise his child in a world of love."_ Philippe could feel the tears begin to well in the corners of his eyes. _"Raoul left a sizeable bank account in my name and it is all I am taking from this marriage. I am leaving everything in Paris – furniture, jewels, clothes - as he left it. I was an orphan from the age of seven and I have learned to care for myself so you need not fear for me. Now I shall learn to care for our child and, perhaps, someday when our baby is older and I am stronger, I shall return. Until then I promise that my child shall know of her family, her heritage and the father who loved me and who will love her from Heaven. I want to thank you for the love you have given to me; it shall never be forgotten. All My Love, Christine."_

As the sounds of watery sniffles filled the room, Philippe placed a hand behind himself; feeling for support, before sinking into the chair he had suspected was there. "Dear God," he breathed, "there is a child."

Christine's child was also on the mind of the man who held the Saint Joseph medallion in his hands. He played with the chain, allowing it to run like silver water through his fingers. He finally held the chain up before his eyes, swinging the medallion back and forth, never blinking as his eyes followed its arc.

"What are you planning on doing with that?" Francois wondered, not hiding his irritation. "You have been playing with that damn thing nearly the last week.

"Patience," Nico breathed softly. "Patience is a virtue; everything comes to those who wait."

Francois snorted. "Wonder what Louis would say to that?"

Nico's eyes never left the swinging medallion. "I think he would say that I have been patient long enough." Nico tossed the medallion up in the air and expertly caught it as it came down, closing his fist about it. "I think my virtue deserves to be rewarded, do you not?"

"As you would," Francois said as he moved to sit at a table, reaching for the liquor bottle in the middle. He watched as Nico jauntily sauntered from the house in which they stayed. He raised the bottle to his lips, taking a healthy swig, before setting it back down. "Enjoy your fun before Louis gets back," he muttered, not wishing to know what type of "fun" Nico was planning this time.

Nico knew exactly what type of "fun" he was planning as he left the house high in the mountains outside Grenoble. He walked across the courtyard, toward the stone barn at the back. He paused before the locked door, reaching into this pocket and pulling out a key. Nico purposefully rattled the chains as he released them before stepping into the dimly lit building. He stood just inside the door as his eyes grew accustomed to the light that only came in through a single window high in the roof. He looked across the hay-strewn floor to the stall door that was also locked, a nasty smile crossing his face as he walked toward it. Nico stopped in front of the door, looking in through the iron bars at the top. "And how are you today?" he asked with all the sweetness of a snake.

The person, manacled and chained to the back wall of the locked stall, slowly raised its head, blank eyes staring at Nico before once again lowering its head. "Why do you care?"

Nico slowly unlocked the stall door, walking inside, staying out of reach of the bundle of rags that passed for a human being. "You know what kind of treatment such words will earn you.

"I do not care," came the answer.

"You know you care," Nico tsk'd. "Now tell me nicely how you are and I promise there will be no pain today."

The chest of the person across from Nico, heaved with emotion and effort as the person raised its head. "You cannot inflict any more pain on me."

"Defiance. Defiance. Defiance." Nico said as he approached the bound person. "Such defiance." He squatted down before the other person. "And you know what that means."

"Just kill me," the person said as it glared at Nico.

"There are many ways to die," Nico purred, satisfaction screaming in his mind as he took note of the startled reaction from the person before him. Nico held up his closed fist, allowing the medallion in his hand to slowly fall. "Do you know what this is?" Nico did not wait for an answer. "It is a Saint Joseph Medallion," he said as he began to swing the chain to which the medallion was attached. "Do you know that Saint Joseph is the patron saint of fathers?" Nico was having trouble concealing the glee that wanted to overwhelm him as he watched the expressions that raced over the face of the person before him. "Do you know where I found it?" He leaned closer. "I found it on the door to your crypt."

"You bastard!" Raoul said as he strained forward, the chains and the manacles drawing him back to the cold wall. "You lie!"

"Do I?" Nico laughed as he rose to his feet, the medallion still swinging back and forth, Raoul's eyes never leaving the moving silver that gleamed like a star in the darkness of his prison. "I watched as your wife placed it on the door." Nico was taking extreme pleasure in the anguish he watched growing in Raoul's eyes. "She looked so forlorn all dressed in black as she laid her head against the door, saying she was sorry and congratulating you on becoming a father."

"If you hurt her …" Raoul managed to spit out before deep coughs rattled his pained body.

"Now why would I want to hurt her?" Nico wondered. "She is carrying your child and you will never know it." He stared blankly down at Raoul. "You will spend the rest of your days in this place with the knowledge that somewhere out in the world there is a child that looks like you. A child that you will never know. A child that will never know you." He finally smiled – it was a cold, evil thing. "A child that will call someone else 'Papa'," Nico laughed as he turned on his heel, leaving the stall and dropping the medallion just out of Raoul's reach.

Raoul ignored the sound of slamming doors as Nico exited the barn, his manacled hands reaching in vain for the medallion that rested so close and yet so far away. He finally leaned his head back against the stone wall, allowing tears to come for the first time in two weeks. He had thought he could bear his imprisonment. He had thought he could handle the knowledge that he would never see his family again. He had thought he could handle anything as long as he knew Christine was safe. He knew she would have mourned him, grieving his loss, grieving all that might have been. But Raoul knew that she would have eventually been all right with his family surrounding her, supporting her, loving her.

"Oh, God," he breathed as the tears streaked down dirty, unshaven cheeks and his mind strayed back to the disagreement he had shared with her, the distance she had placed between them. "It all makes sense." His eyes strayed to the silver medallion that winked at him from the darkness.

"Christine," Raoul whispered, his head rising to look at the small piece of world beyond the window high above his prison. "What have I done?"

"Christine," he whimpered as his eyes closed and his heart shattered.


	35. Chapter 35

**Chapter Summary:** Tallis confronts "The Phantom" as struggles to pull Erik back from the lair that calls to him. With Antoinette's permission, she gives Christine's address to Erik, hoping to end his torment – no matter the cost to her. And Nico continues to find new ways to torment Raoul.

_**Author's Warning** – Okay folks, the "icky bits" are coming back; although I would consider this more emotional torture than actual physical torture. Well … all right … it is physical as well but not nearly as graphic as other instances. And I am going to seriously start "pushing the envelope" with this story as far as the "icky bits" go. Consider yourselves warned – on all counts._

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

"Erik?" Tallis tried as she set the steaming mug of tea down in front of him, taking a seat across from him.

Erik barely lifted his head in acknowledgment.

"This is the first time we have seen you in nearly a week," Tallis said, fixing a smile on her face as she tried to engage the silent ghost in polite conversation. "Madame and I were becoming worried. I told her I would bake some bread and bring it to you." There was still silence from the man who sat at the table, his head in his hands. "I even offered to bring you some soup for I know how much you like it." Tallis forced out a little laugh. "Even in the midst of the summer heat I was ready to stand over a hot stove to find my way to your heart." She inched the mug closer to Erik. "Is that not how they say one gets to a man's heart – through his stomach?" There was no answer to her question; Tallis worried her bottom lip between her teeth. "We thought that you would like to stay for dinner; perhaps you would play for us?" Tallis was met by a stony silence and the sympathy she was feeling for the turmoil Erik was so obviously in was rapidly disappearing under a flood of anger. "I should just go and leave you here to wallow in your dark little corner," Tallis told him as she began to rise to her feet and found her wrist wrapped in a deadly, claw-like grip.

"If you step away from this table," Erik whispered, "from me, I believe I shall go mad." He finally looked up, the pain evident in his masked face.

Tallis sank back to her seat, far more frightened of the mask than what lay beneath it for the mask represented an Erik she did not know, an Erik who was slipping away from her. She gently pried her wrist from his grip and covered his hand with both of hers. She sat silently for a moment, studying the veiled eyes peering at her from beneath the safety of that horrid mask. "I would rather see your face," she said gently.

Erik shook his head, turning it from her. "I cannot."

"Of course you can," Tallis told him. "I have been seeing your face for these last months and it does not frighten me." She reached for his unmasked cheek only to find him pulling away from her.

"I cannot!" he hissed at her.

Tallis swallowed back the tears that wanted to pour forth. "Do not let her do this to you," she pleaded.

"No one is doing anything to me," Erik said as he turned back to face her, his eyes beginning to glitter dangerously.

"Christine and her memory are pulling you back to that place … that lair" Tallis stuck her chin out. "She is turning you back into The Phantom."

Erik's eyes narrowed and his hand began to slip from Tallis' soft clasp. "What do you know of the Phantom, mademoiselle?" He wondered.

"I know that he is not you," Tallis said. "He is not Erik. He is not the man I love."

Erik's hands flashed across the small table, grabbing Tallis by the arms and he drew her up with him, walking her backwards until the pantry door stopped them. "The Phantom is me and I am The Phantom!" Erik told her, his whisper potent, his voice cutting through Tallis, causing her to begin to tremble. "This is the man you love; this monster who bears the mark of Satan upon his face. I am the creature who so terrified his own mother that she sold me to the gypsies to redeem her sin – my own personal Judas. That I was given into sin mattered little." Erik shook his head and tightened his grip on Tallis' arms, not seeing the quiet fear in her gray eyes but the fear in other eyes, darker eyes. "This is the man you love – the man whose flayed back matches his marred face and distorted soul." Erik's hands began to creep up Tallis arms. "This is the man you love – the man who will go to any lengths to get what he desires." His hands crept ever upwards until they closed around the still woman's neck. "This is the man you love – the murderer." Erik leaned in, his eyes burning through to Tallis' soul. "The man who will gladly take that which every other man receives freely."

The angry passion in his eyes left no doubt in Tallis' mind as to what Erik meant; she found she could not tear her eyes away from the lips that leaned ever closer to her own. Tallis found she could not speak, could not call for help, so drawn was she into the spell The Phantom wove with his eyes and his words. The masked face drew closer and Tallis acted out of desperation. Her subconscious acted out of the universal need for self-preservation and it acted out of unselfish love – Tallis leaned forward and met The Phantom's lips before they could claim her own. She kissed him with all the passion she possessed, pressing her lips tightly against his, allowing instinct to take over as her tongue snaked out, tracing along his bottom lip. "And I love The Phantom, too," she said simply as she drew back. "Do with me as you will."

There was a long moment of silence as Tallis and Erik stared at each other, chests heaving from effort expended, rational minds striving through emotional fogs. It was Erik who pulled away, flinging Tallis from him as he turned, striding across the kitchen floor; he did not get far.

"Do not dare to walk away from me!" Tallis nearly shouted as she run up behind Erik, grabbing his arms and twirling him around. Her icy, gray gaze did not back down from the golden fire in his eyes. "You are no longer the Phantom!" she screamed at him as a single hand reached up and pulled the mask from his face, throwing it across the room. "Come back to me," Tallis pleaded as both hands reached up to cup Erik's face, pulling it down so that she could kiss him gently on the lips. "Come back to me," she repeated, her fingers lightly dancing over his skin, certain and unafraid. "Please," came the soft whisper.

Heat expended itself in the face of icy coolness and, in turn, the heat melted the ice into pools of water that quenched the fire. In their wakes, they left two people clinging to each other in the comfortable familiarity of a sunny kitchen. They held to each other, lost in the embrace, lost to the world, as they sought reassurance, as they struggled to bring wandering souls back from the brink.

"What is happening to me?" Erik whispered into the crook of Tallis' neck. He could feel his knees begin to give way. "Dear God, what is happening to me?" He found he could no longer stand and sunk to the floor.

Tallis willingly allowed herself to be pulled down with him. She kept a tight hold on Erik as she moved her knees out from under her, sitting on the floor, feet gently arranging skirts about her. "Look at me," she told Erik and waited until his worried eyes met her own. "I am still here," Tallis said, a small smile crossing her face. "I have not run away. I have not abandoned you. Even in the face of the phantom who still holds sway in your mind, I have not left." She retrieved one of her hands, resting it against his marred cheek. "I like you." Tallis could feel Erik melting into her touch. "I love you," she whispered emphatically and waited a moment for her words to reach into Erik's mind before asking the question to which she already knew the answer even as he did. "What do you want?"

Erik closed his eyes as he memorized the feel of her hand on his face. "I have done nothing but think upon that question for these last days."

"And what answer did you receive?"

Erik could not open his eyes for fear of what he would see when he did. "I need to go to her."

"I know," Tallis replied, unable to keep a touch of sorrow from her voice. "Madame received a telegram two days ago; I know where Christine lives." She watched as Erik's eyes opened - the hope and amazement in them tearing at her heart. "Would you like to know?"

"You would do that for me?"

Tallis had thought carefully upon her next words ever since the telegram had been received. Her thoughts had distracted her during the day and kept her awake during the night. Even Madame Giry, with all her years of observing the human condition, could find no way to breach the walls of doubt that grew about Tallis' heart and mind. There was a fork in the road to the future she wanted and Tallis held the map in her hands, still uncertain of her answer until the moment she had seen the hope in Erik's eyes.

"Yes," Tallis said with a nod of her head. "I would do it for you because I know this is tearing you apart. I would do this for you because I know that you loved Christine enough to set her free, to let her find the life you could not give her. I would do this for you because I know you thought Christine safe and happy with her husband and that helped to assuage the guilt you felt for hating him, for wanting to kill him. Now he is dead and you blame yourself for the guilt she carries, her fears." She took her hand from his cheek to rest it lightly against his pounding heart. "I would do this so that you may seek her forgiveness and set your heart and soul free." Tallis shook her head sadly. "Even if Christine cannot or will not forgive you, at least you will have tried and that takes more courage than I think you know you possess. To swallow one's pride, to humble one's self before another is the very message of every sermon preached in every church on every Sunday." Tallis briefly closed her eyes as a sigh escaped her lips. "I would do this for you because until you can find peace with Christine, you will never be a whole man and while I love all the pieces of you, I want to learn who you are as a whole, complete man."

There was a moment of hesitant silence before Tallis – once again - lightly touched Erik's cheek. "I want to ..." she faltered and steeled her resolve, taking her hands back. "I want to love all of you," Tallis emphasized the last word before looking down as her hands reached into the pocket of the apron she wore, pulling out a folded piece of paper, pressing it into Erik's hands. "This is the address where Christine lives in Boulogne," she said simply. "It is outside the city, near to the ocean." Tallis would not allow herself to cry in front of Erik. "You go with Madame Giry's knowledge." She lowered her eyes, unable any longer to bear the light she saw growing in Erik's own. "And my blessings." Tallis suddenly found herself drawn into a sincere and warm embrace, her arms encircling Erik's back as he held her tightly, committing the feel of him to memory.

"Thank you," came the whispered breath in her ear before Erik drew back, locking his eyes with hers. "I promise that I shall return to you."

"I know," Tallis told him with a smile that she did not feel.

Erik's fingers closed around the paper as his lips met Tallis' for a brief moment and then he was on his feet and out the door before Tallis could even draw a breath.

Tallis sat on the kitchen floor, brown skirts surrounding her like a pool of quicksand, drawing her into an endless oblivion. She stared at the closed kitchen door for long moments, her heart willing Erik back to her arms even as her mind knew it was useless. Tallis finally rose to her feet, walking slowly to the door that led to the rest of the house. As her feet crossed the threshold into the hallway, she broke into a run, flying sightlessly down the hall and through the open door of the reception room, into the arms of Madame Giry who had turned from the window where she had been watching Erik leave.

"It shall be all right child," she told Tallis as the young woman burst into tears.

_Dear God,_ Antoinette thought, _let this be all right._

"Dear God," Nico mocked Antoinette's thoughts in a tone of voice that would have shocked and appalled that gracious woman. "Let her be all right." He stooped down, grabbing the puddle of silver that rested amidst the hay, shoving it into his pocket, out of sight, beyond reach.

Raoul shut his eyes against the sight.

"Do you really think even your prayers are hidden from me?" Nico wondered as he approached Raoul, squatting down before the man whose chains would not allow him to rise to his feet. He reached out and twisted a broken toe, receiving only a sibilant intake of breath in reply. "Ooh," he breathed. "Are you getting used to the pain?"

"You. Cannot. Hurt. Me. Anymore." Raoul ignored the new pain that flared from his foot as he spat out the words, opening his eyes to glare at Nico.

Nico raised a finger to tap against his lips, his eyes going wide. "Oh, dear," he said sadly. "What am I going to do?" His eyes grew distant as he began to think out loud. "Perhaps I could break more of your bones. No, that obviously will not work." Nico shook his head. "And if you can take the pain from broken bones, then I highly doubt another beating will make an impact." Nico focused his gaze on Raoul. "The knife? He wondered. "The branding iron?"

Raoul swallowed down his growing fear at the words that passed Nico's lips, each one more terrifying than the last. For all of his brave words, Raoul knew that he could not take any more pain. He knew that another broken bone not given the chance to heal, another knife wound untreated and allowed to develop an infection, another beating that would leave him bruised and senseless would break the last string that tethered him to reality. He had barely eaten since they had taken him; his only water what they would toss over his head. His shoulder ached from the burn he was sure was also infected, his cracked ribs sending flares of pain with every breath drawn. His head pounded from even the smallest of movements and Raoul found he was having trouble focusing his vision on distant objects. He felt himself growing dizzy as he began to hyperventilate from the dread anticipation; strong fingers pinching a bruised jaw, pulling him back to his darkened prison.

"No, no, no," Nico told him in a strange sing-song voice. "That will just not do. I need you here with me."

"Go away," Raoul pleaded, knowing his words did no good as Nico's eyes began to glow, his face drawing closer.

"But if I go away," Nico's tone was deadly normal, "how will I ever tell you about your wife?"

Raoul found himself drawn into Nico's eyes, unable to find his way out.

"Much better," Nico murmured to himself and pinched Raoul's jaw again, relishing the flash of pain he witnessed. "Such a good boy." He smiled; it was an odd expression with no emotion behind it, frightening in its emptiness. "What do you want to know about your lovely wife? Shall I tell you how she stood at the door of your crypt demanding that God give you back to her?" Nico shook his head. "Did she really think I would do that?" He wondered aloud. "Do you want to know how she jumped when we called her name? How the skin of her pale cheek prickled with cold as I ran the barrel of my gun down it? Do you want to know how she pleaded with us not to hurt her?" Nico's smile disappeared, undisguised lust replacing it. "Shall I tell you how she trembled in my arms when I grabbed her? How soft her lips were beneath my hands? How her skin smells of lilies and the touch of her hair is as soft as a feather?"

"You son of a bitch!" Raoul shouted and slammed his head into Nico's, throwing the crazed man off balance. Raoul screamed from the pain his actions caused even as he struggled with the vision of his wife in the arms of another madman. Confusion joined hands with the pain and Raoul found the images in his mind contorting, blending, changing. He heard Nico's eerie laugh crescendo upwards into the stirring voice of an angel. Raoul could see the eyes behind the masked face flare with golden fire, turning into the mad orbs of his chief tormentor. Raoul found he could not shake the image of The Phantom becoming Nico, wrapping his arms about Christine, pulling her close, his hands moving downwards … toward the child she carried … their child … Raoul felt cold hands grab his head.

"You stupid, pathetic fool!" Nico shouted, beating Raoul's head against the stone wall with every word in a strange punctuation to his anger. "Why do you make me do this to you?" Nico's anger deflated with each sickening thud of Raoul's skull against stone and he finally drew his hands away from the unconscious man, staring curiously at the blood on his fingertips. "Why?" Nico backhanded Raoul once; the moan that escaped all unknowingly from Raoul's lips further deflating Nico's anger. "Now I shall have to punish you."

He giggled as he stood, throwing upon the stall door, striding across the barn to a large object in a darkened corner. Nico's hands ran lovingly over the cold metal. "Not that that was not what I was going to do anyway," he whispered to no one in particular as his hands reached through the small hole at the top of the object. Nico slowly dragged the heavy object across the hay-strewn floor, stopping in front of the door to the stall where Raoul was kept chained. Nico's acute vision allowed him to see the opening and he turned the object so that the opening was facing the opened stall door. He reached into his pants pocket as he walked back toward Raoul, pulling out a key. Nico leaned over, placing the key into the manacle encircling Raoul's left wrist, smiling at the click that caused the manacle to fall away. He repeated the action on Raoul's right wrist and took one step back as Raoul's limp body slumped over onto the hay. Nico's booted foot reached out, swiftly kicking at Raoul's hip, jostling his body away from the back wall of the barn, taking sweet satisfaction in the explosive breath that escaped Raoul's lungs. Nico leaned over, placing the key in another lock, releasing the chains that bound Raoul's legs, placing the key back in his pocket.

Nico remained bent over as he grabbed at Raoul's bruised and cut wrists, dragging him across the floor. He paused at the opening that gaped just beyond the stall door and with little ceremony and less gentleness, Nico threw Raoul's unconscious body into the iron box. His hand paused on the door and Nico stared at the jumbled form beneath his gaze. He removed his hand and reached in, straightening Raoul so that he sat upwards, his head lolling against his chest. "If you are going to be spending the next days in here," Nico said as a smile crossed his face, "you might as well be comfortable." He slammed the door to the box shut, turning back to the stall, grabbing the chains and wrapping them around the box, locking them in place.

Nico wrapped his hands about the chains and began dragging the iron box toward the main door of the barn. He was forced to pause at the door, to slide it open, allowing the bright summer sun to flood in, illuminating the empty structure. Nico continued to drag the chained box holding Raoul outward, into the courtyard between the house and the barn, into that hot summer sun. He paused for a moment when he reached the center of the court, raising his head to the glaring sun overhead, another of those strange smiles crossing his face. Nico turned back to the box, leaning over it to look in through the slit at the top. "Welcome home," he whispered, patting the box before backing off, walking a short distance away and sitting down on the cobblestones. Nico crossed his legs and began to whistle as his unblinking eyes never left the box that now sat under the summer sun that baked the open courtyard.

"What is that?" Francois asked as he sauntered up, his hands carrying two satchels containing food and drink from the nearby village.

Nico's head whirled on his body, seeming to almost turn completely around. "It is mine," Nico hissed, his eyes narrowing at Francois.

Francois backed away a step before turning his gaze from Nico to the box; his head began to shake slowly. "Please tell me he is not in there," Francois said softly even as his eyes took in the locked chains, his mind already knowing the answer.

"It is mine!" Nico repeated, his body tensing, ready to defend that which his mind claimed as personal property.

"You cannot leave him in there!" Francois said as he put the satchels down on the cobblestones. "We were told to keep him miserable but alive." He took two steps forward, toward the box that held Raoul. "He will die in there!"

"Mine!" Nico screamed as he leapt to his feet in one fluid movement, seeming to fly across the courtyard until he stood, spread-eagled, before the iron box like some guardian pulled from the very depths of Hell. "Mine! Mine! Mine!" he screamed again.

Francois held up his hands in supplication, slowly returning to the two satchels. "Yours," he said softly. He leaned over to retrieve the satchels, his eyes never leaving Nico's. "You do with him what you will," Francois said with a nod as he cautiously worked his way to the front door of the house. "I am going to be just inside; there is food and drink if you would like," Francois finished and slid gently through the door, closing it, sagging against the safety it provided against the madman outside. He staggered to the window, keeping just out of sight as he peered through it. He saw Nico once again sitting on the cobblestones, staring at the iron box.

"Jesus, Louis," Francois said to the empty house. "Hurry up and get your ass back here before something happens that we all will regret."


	36. Chapter 36

**Chapter Summary:** Raoul's hold on reality begins to slip away. Francois takes an interest in Raoul's continued well-being. Louis meets with the mysterious stranger. And in a house outside of Boulogne-sur-mer, Christine comes face-to-face with her past.

_**Author's Note:** Many thanks to Hikaru Hayashi for providing me with the insight as to why Christine cannot cry. It was something I had not thought of and- for her brilliant thought - this chapter is for her!_

CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

"_Raoul," _the voice called.

Raoul barely opened his eyes, the sting of salty sweat against them making him wince. "Who …" he breathed, pausing as the hot air he inhaled set his lungs on fire..

A musical laugh answered his question. _"I am an angel, of course,"_ she said.

A slight smile crossed Raoul's lips. "Angel."

"_I am your angel."_ She smiled broadly back at him as she sat, arranging her white gown about her legs. _"I have always been your angel."_ Her smile softened, her voice growing soft and gentle. _"Only your angel."_

"Christine," Raoul said, the effort to speak pulling him back into the hot darkness of Hell. He felt a hand against his face and he turned his head into the cool touch.

"_Surely you do not have another angel?"_ she wondered, a fingertip going to Raoul's lips as he opened his mouth. _"No. Shhh. Do not speak,"_ the angel told him.

"Home," Raoul pleaded, ignoring the angel's wishes. "Home." Raoul could no longer find the energy or the will to breath and his chest stopped moving, his eyes beginning to roll back in his head.

"_No!"_ the angel shouted as she grabbed his shoulders, shaking him. She reached her hands up to his face, cupping it gently as she leaned forward. _"The baby,"_ she whispered. _"You have to be strong for our baby." _The angel brushed her lips against Raoul's, using her tongue to gently open them, breathing easily and forcing life into a body that no longer wanted such a thing.

A gasping, groaning sound echoed forth from Raoul's throat as lungs drew in a shallow breath. "Baby," he whispered as his eyes opened, focusing on the angel before him.

"_Our baby,"_ she told him. _"Our precious little girl. She is going to need her papa as she grows up. Who else will be able to protect her, to teach her,"_ the angel smiled and rested her head against Raoul's heart, _"to love her."_

Raoul closed his arms about the angel, pulling her close. "Not leave?" he wondered.

"_I have always been with you,"_ the angel told him as she raised her head, concern and compassion evident on her face. _"I shall not leave you now." _The angel laid her head back down._ "I shall stay until you no longer need me."_

Raoul leaned his head down to rest against the angel's soft curls. "Always."

"_I know,"_ the angel whispered back and gave the man in her arms a gentle squeeze. _"Close your eyes,"_ she commanded, _"and I shall keep you safe."_

Raoul willingly obeyed the miracle in his arms and surrendered to the darkness that beckoned him so seductively, unaware there was another also concerned for his condition.

Francois looked briefly out the window at the chained box in the courtyard, shaking his head. He turned from the window and glanced at the clock on the dresser – seven hours. It had been nearly seven hours since he had returned from the village to find Nico lost in another bout of madness, their hostage a victim to the insanity yet again. Francois moved from the window to continue his search of Louis' room. He knew it had to be here for they had used it on their hostage before; it had kept him still and silent during the long trip to Grenoble. Now he desperately needed to find the small packet containing the tasteless sleeping powder; he flung drawers open, frantically searching.

"I cannot have another death on my head," he muttered as he flung objects about the room. "I did not agree to another death." Francois turned from the highboy to the wardrobe, flinging open the doors. "Where is it?" he nearly screamed as he fumbled through the items in the wardrobe, his hands finally coming to rest on a small, black leather pouch. Francois grabbed at it. "Got you!"

He fled the upstairs bedroom, running down the stairs and into the kitchen at the back of the house. Francois moved to the wooden table against the far wall of the room, pausing to stare at two mugs full of ale that rested in the middle of the table. Francois shook his head as he contemplated his actions; a moment of indecision crossing his mind that quickly passed. He looked down at shaking hands as they opened the leather pouch, one hand reaching in, fingers closing about a pinch of the white powder, pulling it out and dropping it into one of the mugs. He watched as the powder slowly sank into the ale, disappearing into its amber depths. Francois gave the liquid a stir with his finger for good measure before lifting both mugs into his hands, walking through the house and out into the courtyard, slowly and carefully approaching Nico.

Nico turned his head at the sound of footsteps on the cobblestones. "Mine," he warned softly.

"I know," Francois agreed, nodding his head. "I am not here to take him from you."

Nico turned his eyes back to the box. "Good."

Francois stopped at Nico's side. "I just thought you might like some company." He cautiously lowered himself so that he was sitting next to Nico. "I wanted to let you know that I have got some chicken on the stove – just in case you were hungry." Francois received no reply. "I could always bring it out here for you." He fought down the urge to smile as Nico nodded his head. "And I thought you might like something to drink." Francois held out the two mugs and nodded toward the box. "He may be hot and miserable but that does not mean you need to be."

Nico eyed the mugs suspiciously.

"If you do not want a drink," Francois said, slowly taking back his hands, "I will drink them both. My thirst always needs to be quenched!" He laughed but held his breath as Nico reached for the mugs, sighing inwardly as Nico's hands closed about the correct one.

"To my toy," Nico said as he raised his mug.

"To his misery," Francois said, smacking his mug against Nico's loudly, causing the ale in both to splash over. Francois took a hefty swallow, watching as Nico did the same. He wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. "Mind if I stay here and keep watch with you for a few minutes? It certainly is not going to hurt a dead chicken any to boil a little longer."

Nico took another deep swallow of the ale. "Stay," he said. "Watch." He raised the mug to his lips and downed the remaining ale in two swallows. "Mine," Nico warned as narrowed eyes looked over the rim of the lowering mug.

Francois nodded his head in agreement, following suit as he downed his ale. "Yours," he said simply as he placed his empty mug on the cobblestones. He could feel his pulse begin to race as he turned his eyes toward the chained box, watching, waiting.

Finally as the sun began to descend toward the mountaintops, the shadows in the courtyard growing longer, Nico began to lightly sway back and forth in his sitting position. Francois stretched out his legs. "Getting hungry?" he asked as he began to rise to his feet. "I should go and check on the meal."

Nico's hands reached for his head. "I do not …" He turned to look at Francois. "You bastard!" He shouted as he lunged at the back-peddling Francois and fell face first into the cobblestones. Nico slowly rose to all fours, struggling to keep his head upright, turning toward the box. "Mine," he breathed as he finally collapsed in a limp pile.

Francois stared at him for long moments, wondering if Nico was truly unconscious or simply acting, waiting to pull him in, to pull him under. Francois took a hesitant step forward and stuck out his foot, nudging at Nico's shoulder. He received no response and nudged a bit harder. Still receiving no response, Francois moved next to Nico. "Jesus, that stuff took a long time to work." Francois flipped Nico over, his hands patting all over the still form. "Ah ha!" Francois exclaimed as he felt the item for which he had been searching. He reached into Nico's inner vest pocket and pulled out a key. He rose to his feet and sprinted across the courtyard to the iron box. He was nervous and dropped the key the first two times he tried. "Dammit, dammit, dammit," Francois muttered under his breath, reaching down the second time to pick up the key, managing to slip it into the lock. Nervous, panicked hands removed the lock, rapidly unwinding the chains. Francois paused in his frenetic actions as fingers closed around the handle to the door. "Let him be alive," he breathed and opened the door, stepping back as a body tumbled out.

"Christ," Francois said as he bent down, two fingers going to the neck of the still man at his feet. Francois let out a long sigh as he felt the faint pulse beneath them. "Thank God." He turned his eyes from Raoul to Nico. "Now what the hell am I going to do?"

"Now what the hell are we going to do?" Louis was asking the same question as he sat in a small tavern on the road between Lyon and Chagny. He had come to this place at the bidding of the man seated across the table from him – the man who always chose to hide in darkened shadows.

"You are going to do precisely as I tell you," the man said. "Nothing more. Nothing less."

"And just how long do you expect us to stay in that house before we are noticed?"

"You will stay there," came the softly spoken answer, "until I can find a way to ensure your safe passage from France. If you continue on as you have been, no one will suspect anything is amiss."

"That is easy for you to say. You have a grand home to stay in, an easy life with no worries." Louis scratched at his chin. "I have Nico and he is taking your orders to make our …" he paused, selecting his next word carefully, lowering his voice, "friend … as miserable as possible too much to heart."

The figure in the shadows leaned forward slightly. "I want him alive," the tone of his voice was deadly. "It is more vital than ever that he remain so." A crooked smile could be seen crossing his face. "Especially now that his wife is carrying their child." He leaned forward a bit more. "When you return, I wish you to let our friend know that his wife has disappeared." He chuckled. "Tell him that she has returned to her phantom lover." He returned to his shadows. "That should add to his misery."

Louis shrugged. "That is what you are paying for," he said as his hands closed around the leather satchel full of franc notes in the middle of the table. "Just one last thing."

"What?"

"How long are we expected to be our friend's keepers?"

"Until we can get him safely to an asylum in the Americas," the man in the shadows replied. "Once that has been accomplished, each of you shall receive your remaining share of the ransom money." He chuckled again. "And I shall decide when – and if – our friend shall ever see the light of day again."

There was that in the man's voice that sent shivers up Louis' hardened spine. He drew the satchel to his side, sliding his chair back and standing. "I need to go if I am to be in Grenoble by the morning."

The figure in the shadows leaned forward again. "If you fail me," he said simply. "I shall see to it that none of you shall ever fail at anything ever again. Am I understood?"

"Perfectly," Louis said.

"Go." A hand emerged from the shadows, waving dismissal.

Louis did not need to be told a second time. He turned on his heel and left the inn, collecting his horse from the stable before riding into the gathering night, over the sleeping countryside. He looked forward to the next morning, a soft bed and the opportunity to be away from a man whose cold, deadly madness was so carefully hidden beneath a civilized veneer.

The next morning found the countryside all across France waking to the new day. The countryside surrounding Boulogne-sur-mer – while peaceful now - had been witness to much upheaval since the Romans had first taken advantage of the port that offered easy access to England across the channel. The Revolution had seen the destruction of the city's cathedral, the original foundation becoming the new crypt during the forty-year process of rebuilding. Napoleon had used the port as his planning base for an English invasion. Now as a new century loomed on the horizon, the city was actively engaged in a rivalry with Calais for dominance in travel and transport across the Channel to the English ports of Folkstone and Dover. And in a house not far from the cliffs overlooking the sea, a young woman slowly blinked her eyes open, arms reaching out for someone who was no longer there.

"Oh, Raoul," Christine breathed as she closed her eyes. "Will I ever stop looking for you to be next to me?" She sighed as no silly little laugh or familiar voice came to answer her question. Christine rolled over, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed as she sat up. "At least the nausea has eased," she said a hand reaching for her child. "Good morning, little one. What would you think of some breakfast and a walk down to the sea? Your papa …" Christine swallowed down the anger that always seemed so close to the surface. "Your papa and I used to love to run along the beach when we were young." She closed her eyes, holding to the memory of two happy, laughing children. "You will love the beach, as well; I promise."

Thirty minutes later, Christine had donned a simple black dress, her hair tied back with a black ribbon and she descended the stairs to the first floor of her leased home. As she reached the bottom of the staircase, the odor of freshly baking bread assailed her nostrils and Christine realized she was hungry. She turned toward the back of the house, moving to the kitchen, pausing in the doorway as she noticed Marie bent over the hearth, stirring something in a huge pot. Christine managed a small smile as Marie looked up.

"Good morning, Madame," Marie said.

Christine sighed as she moved into the kitchen, taking a tea towel from a counter so that she could lift the kettle from the stove. "How many times must I tell you, it is just Christine again." She poured hot water over the tea strainer in a waiting cup, placing the kettle back on the stove before turning and moving to a seat at the small table in the center of the sunny room. "I am just Christine."

Marie shrugged. "If you wish it."

"It is how it must be," Christine told her. "Our lives have changed," her voice dropped, "forever."

Marie turned, walking toward the table, two bowls in her hands that she placed before Christine. "I know," she replied gently as she took a seat. "But you must remember to take care of yourself and your baby." She smiled at Christine. "Now, I want you to eat your breakfast."

Christine wrinkled her nose at the soupy substance in one bowl. "Porridge?"

"Monsieur le Doctor said it was good for you," Marie reminded her and nodded to the other bowl. "That is a fruit compote that my brother's wife put up last autumn. Marcel brought over several jars of that and other fruits and vegetables that Bettina insisted we have."

Christine dipped a spoon into the compote and smiled as the sweet fruit slithered down her throat. "Oh, that is good." She put down the spoon and sighed. "I do not think I shall ever be able to thank your brother and his wife enough for all they have done for me." She waved a hand. "Helping to find this house, sharing their food," Christine shook her head, "not asking any questions."

"They know you are my friend. They know you are good to me. That is all they need to know," Marie told her. "I just hope someday you will permit me to tell them the whole truth."

"Perhaps, someday," Christine replied and stuck a spoon in the porridge.

"You must eat that," Marie reminded her.

Christine actually managed a small smile. "You sound like Madame Giry."

Marie moved her chair back from the table and rose to her feet. "I, too, studied under her," she reminded Christine, "and I take that as the highest compliment. I am glad you told her where you are."

"She is the closest thing to a mother I have ever known," Christine replied, her nose wrinkling as she swallowed a spoonful of porridge. "If I am to face having … raising …" Christine paused to bury her anger. "If I am to raise my child alone, I cannot think of a better woman to guide me." She managed another spoon of porridge. "What are you planning on doing this day?" she asked, changing the subject.

"I am going to finish the stew I started for this evening's meal," Marie told her as she moved back to hearth, checking on the pot before turning back to Christine. "And then I shall clean," she held up a hand as Christine's mouth opened. "You cooked and cleaned yesterday while I was out with Bettina; it is my turn today." She shook her head. "I need to do something, to feel useful and I want you to go for a walk down to the beach. The doctor said you are to get plenty of fresh air." She turned to look out the window. "You may wish to go before the heat becomes too great."

Christine finished the last of the compote, leaving the porridge bowl half-full and swallowed the last of her tea. "I think I shall," she said as she stood. Christine moved across the room, pausing at the door. "Are you quite sure?"

"Quite," Marie paused for effect, "Christine." She crossed her arms over her chest. "And Marcel said he would stop by on his way to the city. He is bringing us fish. Or so he says." Marie grinned. "We shall see just how capable a fisherman my brother truly is."

A sad smile crossed Christine's face as she nodded and left the house, walking into the back garden. She moved easily over the flagstone walkway, taking no pleasure in the bright summer blooms that peppered the small flowerbeds. The heady scent of roses wafted by on a passing breeze and Christine's smile turned into a frown, the pace of her feet picking up. "Roses," she muttered. "Why must there always be roses?" She reached the gate at the back of the garden and nearly flung it open in her effort to get away from the scent that always seemed to find her, to haunt her.

She walked across the waving green grass that extended from the hedges that enclosed the back garden of her new home to the very edge of the cliff overlooking the beach and the sea beyond. Christine paused in her walk as she noted the ewes and lambs off in the distance, the antics of the growing lambs and their harried mothers putting a genuine smile on her face. She watched them in silence for several minutes, the everyday scene chasing away a small portion of her anger, before resuming her walk Christine easily covered the remaining distance to the edge of the cliff. She stood quietly, her gaze scanning the warm gold of the sand, the deep blue of the water where the Channel met the ocean before she lowered herself to the warm ground, arranging her skirt beneath her.

Christine's hands reached behind her head and she untied the ribbon holding her hair back. She shook her hair loose and held the ribbon up before her face, watching as the sun bounced off the glossy black satin. She raised her arm high, the ribbon waving in the breeze that blew off the ocean. Christine opened her fingers and the breeze took her ribbon, carrying it aloft, tossing and turning it on the warm currents of air. Christine watched the antics of her ribbon until it disappeared off into the distance. She sighed, drawing her knees to her chest, placing her head against them.

"Gone," Christine whispered sadly. "Everything is gone."

She sat like that for a long time, a black pyramid hidden beneath a curtain of chestnut curls, unaware of the two pairs of concerned eyes that watched from the kitchen window.

"She is going to all right?" Marcel wondered as he turned from the window toward his sister.

Marie shook her head. "I wish I knew," she told her brother. "She has yet to shed a single tear."

Marcel was amazed. "Her husband is dead and she has not cried?"

"I think," Marie bit the end of a fingertip as she thought. "I think she is afraid to cry because if she does cry that will mean that the Vico …" Marie caught herself. "It will mean that her husband is truly dead; I do not think she is yet able to face that truth."

"Marie," Marcel said as he placed hands on his sister's arms, turning her so that she was facing him. "How ignorant do you think we are?" He nodded toward the window. "I know who she is; I know she is the Vicomtess de Chagny." He smiled at the look that passed over his sister's face. "Maman was so worried for you after the fire at the opera house. She and Father worried that you would end up homeless on the streets of Paris with no money, no prospects. They were so relieved when they received your letter telling them that you were going to be the personal maid to the Vicomtess."

"I did not realize they had told you," Marie admitted sheepishly and she grew serious. "You will keep her secret?" She watched as her brother nodded. "Thank you." Marie shook her head. "I am not sure that I would have done what she has done – run from the family to whom she should be turning for love and support – but she feels she has reason." She shrugged. "All I can do is be here with her and hope that as time heals her grief, she will realize her mistake and return."

"You are such a good person," Marcel said as he hugged his sister. "The Vicomtess is fortunate to have you." He grinned at her as he drew back. "It is such a far cry from the annoying brat you were when we were children."

Marie lightly smacked her brother's arm. "You are quite a horrid man to remind me of those times!"

Marcel laughed as he wrapped an arm about his sister. "It is the duty of every brother," he replied. "Now, walk me to the door for I must go into the city." He patted his pocket. "And I shall remember to bring back all the things on your list." He rolled his eyes. "And my wife's list. And my children's list."

Marie laughed as she walked with her brother down the hall to the front door. They stopped at the bottom of the staircase, reaching to hug each other goodbye when a knock came at the door. A puzzled look crossed Marie's face and she turned to open the door, an involuntary scream escaping her lips.

"Please," the man at the door said, his hand reaching out.

Marcel quickly stepped between his sister and the disfigured stranger at the door. "You have no business here," he said sternly, his hand beginning to close the door. "I suggest you leave before I forget I am a gentleman." Marcel found the door would not close and looked down to see a foot jammed in the opening. "You had best remove that," he said, the hand not on the door closing into a fist.

"You," Marie breathed as she looked over her brother's shoulder. "I thought you had died!"

"I am certain you wish I had," Erik replied, "and I should have but I did not." He fiddled with the fedora that barely covered the marred side of his face. "I have come from Madame Giry; it was she who told me where to come. Please," he pleaded. "I need to see her."

Marie swallowed back her fears, relishing the safety of her brother standing between her and the man who had ruined her dreams and the dreams of all those who had worked in the opera house. "Why? What could you possibly say to her now? Has she not suffered enough at your hands? Have we not all suffered enough at your hands?"

Erik refused to hang his head. "Yes, you have. I know what I am," he told her. "I know what I have done." He drew a deep breath. "All I am asking is but a moment of her time and then I shall leave and never return."

Marcel kept himself between the strange man at the door and his sister - his concern growing by the moment. He looked over his shoulder at Marie, the doubt and fear on her face and turned back to the man just outside the threshold, his lips setting in a stern line. "If you do not leave …" he began.

"No," Marie interrupted him. Both men looked at her, the narrowed eyes, the angry look on her face. "Let him come in." Marcel did not move and Marie touched his arm. "Marcel, please." She waited as her brother stepped aside and Erik moved hesitantly into the house. Marie moved out from behind her brother and stoodsteadfastly before Erik. "She is not here at the moment but I can fetch her."

"Thank you," Erik replied softly.

Marie was still having none of it. "Marcel will show you to theparlor and if you do anything …"

Erik swallowed back his irritation at the treatment he was receiving from a girl who had once been nothing more than a shadow in his opera house. Now she obviously thought it her duty to protect Christine from him; how dare she? How dare she assume he would do anything to hurt his angel? "Thank you," Erik replied and followed Marcel as the other man moved off in the direction of the parlor.

As the man who had nearly destroyed her life disappeared into the front parlor, Marie allowed her fear and anger to surface and she slammed the front door shut with all the strength she could find.

"Marie?" she heard a voice ask.

"Oh," Marie said, a hand going to her throat as she turned at the sound.

Christine's eyes grew wide as she noted the look on her friend's face. "What is it?" she asked fearfully. "It is not your family?"

Marie tried her best to compose herself. "We have company," she told Christine.

"Company?" Christine was perplexed. "But no one knows I am here …" A look of panic began to cross her face. "Oh, God. They have found me." Her eyes darted toward the stairs. "I need to leave."

Marie quickly moved to Christine's side. "It is not your family," she told Christine, knowing the look of relief that passed her face would only be temporary. "It is not my family." She shook her head. "Madame Giry has sent you a visitor and I do not know … I do not …"

"Madame Giry?" Christine brightened and looked around, seeing Marcel coming through the parlor door. "Thank you," she smiled at Marie and walked to the parlor door.

"You do not …" Marie said but she was unable to stop Christine; she looked at her brother, worry evident in every aspect of her face and body.

Marcel looked from his terrified sister to the woman who walked past him, unseeing, her eyes fixed on the parlor she was entering. He turned his gaze from his sister to the interior of the parlor, ready to intervene at the least little sign of trouble.

Christine stopped just inside the parlor door, seeing a figure turned toward the fireplace, away from her. She put a smile on her face. "Hello," she said softly and took another step into the parlor.

"Christine," Erik said as he turned around.

Christine froze in mid-step. "You," she breathed.


	37. Chapter 37

**Chapter Summary:** Christine. Erik. And a confrontation that allows the healing process to begin.

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

"Christine," Erik tried again, taking a single step forward and freezing as the woman before him took two steps backward - away from him.

"You," Christine repeated, unable to find other words. Her mouth and opened and closed as her mind desperately tried to comprehend the vision before her. "You."

Erik took the hat from his head, running the brim through his fingers. "It is me. It is your angel. Your Erik." His words were softly spoken in an attempt to ease the shock of his presence. "I mean you no harm."

Christine eyes were wide and frightened, like those of a deer facing the end of an arrow. "How? How … how … how …"

"Antoinette," Erik paused and cleared his throat. "Madame Giry told me where to find you. I need …"

"That is not what I meant," Christine spat at him, her words cutting him off, anger quickly replacing fear. "How dare you stand before me, living and breathing when … when …" She turned her head away from him for a brief moment. When she turned back, anger blazed in the depths of her dark eyes. "How dare you live when Raoul is dead? How dare you!"

"Christine," Erik reached out a hand for her.

"Why are you not dead!" she screamed at him.

Erik drew his hand back and stood very still, somewhat stunned by the anger he saw in his angel. "I am not dead because Antoinette found me in what was left of my … home … after the mob destroyed it. She pulled me from its depths and has been struggling to teach me to live in the world."

Christine looked at Erik from head to toe, examining him almost as if he were a piece of meat at the local butcher shop. "She should have let you die."

Her words, the soft anger in them, cut through Erik like nothing else could. "Perhaps, she should have," he agreed, refusing to allow himself to feel any anger toward the woman before him, "but she did not. And now she has been gracious enough to tell me where you were so that I can …"

"Can what?" Christine interrupted him.

Erik drew a deep breath to steady the agitation he could feel growing in his breast. "I came to speak with you." A pained frown crossed his face. "I came to apologize for all that I have done to you and …" he faltered, "and to him."

"Say his name," Christine ordered softly.

"I … I … I… " Erik stuttered.

"Say his name!" Christine shouted. "Say it!"

Erik drew himself up, straightening his shoulders. "I came to apologize for all that I have done to you and to Raoul."

"And what makes you think I would wish to hear anything you have to say?" Christine asked, her tone imperious.

Erik did not know the woman before him and his agitation began to overwhelm him. "Pray forgive my impudence, Vicomtess," he hissed, spitting out the last word. "I shall trouble you no further with my presence."

Christine watched as he took a step forward and she quickly turned her back on him, her hand reaching for the door to the parlor. She smiled at Marie and Marcel who stood at the bottom of the staircase, wide-eyed and worried; there was no friendliness or compassion in Christine's smile. Her hand slowly closed the door, turning the key, the loud click of the lock echoing about the still parlor. Christine turned back to face Erik, her hands behind her back, closing over the key. "How does it feel?" she wondered.

"How does what feel?" Erik was confused.

A smirk curled the edges of Christine's lips. "How does it feel to be locked in a room with a crazed person and no way out?" She laughed at the expression on his face. "Not a very pleasant feeling, is it? Wondering what will happen to you, the fear pounding at your heart, causing it to race."

"Christine," Erik said as he took another step forward.

"If you move another inch," Christine said, "I shall began screaming and then I shall claw your eyes out." Her lips curled again. "I doubt there would be any who will fault me for killing the dreaded Opera Ghost who broke into my home, attempting to spirit me away, yet again."

"I. Came. To. Apologize." Erik repeated, struggling to hold back his temper.

"So you have said," Christine replied, cocking her head to one side. "Why now? Why not two years ago? Why not when my marriage was announced in all the papers? Antoinette knew you were alive; would it have been so hard to give her a letter for me?" She paused, her eyes growing wide in false innocence. "Oh, that is right; Raoul is finally dead. Now I am a widow with no one to love. Have you come to apologize or claim that which you tried to steal before?"

Erik did not understand what had happened to his beloved angel; he placed his hat back on his head. "This is futile. I should leave." He was stunned when Christine rushed at him, tearing the hat from his head and flinging it across the room.

"You will do no such thing!" she screamed, her chest heaving as she drew deep breaths. "You are going to stand here until I am finished! You are going to stand here and listen to every word I have to say!" Christine stared angrily up at former teacher, the man who had once professed his love for her. "You tried to kill Raoul once and I would have sacrificed my own life to save his for I love him that much!" Her mouth turned down into an angry frown. "I did not have that chance this time. Those … men … succeeded where you failed. They accomplished what you could not – they murdered the man I love, my best friend, my husband," her voice lowered to a whisper, "the father of my child." Christine pushed her finger into Erik's chest to emphasize her next words. "And you are going to stand here and listen to every detail of what Raoul had to endure."

"I do not …" Erik tried.

"But you did," Christine corrected him. "You and your actions placed such a deep fear within my heart that I could not bear to tell Raoul I was carrying our child for fear I would fail him." She raised an eyebrow at him. "Do you remember your punishments whenever I failed to do as you ordered?" The smirk returned to Christine's lips at Erik's pained reaction. "I thought as much," she whispered. "And because I could not tell him, Raoul thought I was falling out of love with him. He thought there was another person in my life. I am sure he thought it was you." Her eyes flashed with bitter anger. "Your ghost would never leave us alone and because of that, my husband is dead and I must bear some of the guilt for his death." Christine spat out her next words. "So you will stand there and you will listen and I am sure you will find great enjoyment in the details of Raoul's death. Or, perhaps, it will just be jealousy you feel because those men did what you could not."

"I do not wish to hear this," Erik told her and found tiny hands pushing against his chest, shoving him backward to land awkwardly in a chair.

"Do you want to know how they waited for him in the woods where he loved to ride?" Christine asked, staring down into Erik's startled face. "Do you want to know how they sent his horse home with a note demanding money for Raoul's safe return?"

Erik tried to straighten his body from the tousled position into which it had fallen.

"Sit!" Christine ordered him, watching as he grew still before continuing. "Shall I tell you how they assured us that they truly had Raoul? Do you want to know of the envelope that they sent us containing his bloody hair? Or perhaps it would gladden your heart to learn of the second package they sent – the package containing Raoul's shirt? Would it please you to know that his shirt bore long slashes along both arms and across the middle; knife slashes whose edges were lined with my husband's blood?" Christine paused, her nostrils flaring. "I think you might enjoy it more to know that there was the mark of a branding iron on the back of Raoul's shirt."

Erik was horrified at the words coming from his angel's mouth and could find nothing to say in return.

"Or the fingernails? Did Antoinette mention that part?" Christine wondered. "Did she tell you how I went out to the back portico one morning and found a package on the chair where Raoul would love to sit? Do you want to know that the package was soaked through with his blood? Do you want to know that when I opened that package I found five of my husband's fingernails inside of it? Fingernails that those men tore from his hands?" Christine took a single step backwards, allowing Erik to struggle into an upright position.

"I never meant …" he began and shook his head. "I would never have done those things."

Christine paused in thought for a moment, allowing Erik to slowly rise to his feet. "No, you would not have," she agreed before growing angry once again. "You would have slowly strangled him before my eyes! You would have allowed me to listen to him struggle for breath, watching him turn blue before falling limp and dying."

Erik, too, was angry. "I would not have done that!"

"You wanted to! You tried to!" Christine shouted back before growing eerily calm. "Do you wish to know how they finally killed him? Shall I tell you that the police have reason to believe that those men surrounded my bound husband with dynamite? That they lit a fuse and fled, leaving my husband to blown into little pieces?" Christine fixed haunted eyes on the fallen angel before her. "Do you wish to know that there was a coffin but that we could only bury pieces of Raoul? Do you want to know how much it hurts to know I never got to say goodbye to him? To see his face one last time? To whisper in his ear that I loved him?"

Erik shook his head. "I would not wish such hurt on you."

Christine ignored his words. "Do you wish to know that I secretly looked at the police report on my brother-in-law's desk when no one was aware?" Christine placed a trembling hand to her lips as she felt a familiar nausea begin to roil in her stomach. "Do you know they could not find my husband's head? Do you know they only identified him by the ring they found on a partial hand?"

Erik turned his head away.

"Would that I could do that!" Christine yelled and grabbed Erik's arm, forcing him to turn his attention back to her. "Would that I could turn away; but I cannot! I shall never be able to turn away! I shall carry this knowledge, this guilt, this grief with me until the day I die! And nothing you can say will ever be able to change that!"

There was a long moment of silence in the room as man and woman studied each other, each alone in their anger, each unwilling to compromise. The long years of lies that led to the bitterness between them prevented either of them from being able to truly reach out in comfort to the other.

It was Erik who finally broke contact, lowering his eyes. "I did not like Raoul," he admitted aloud for the first time. "I hated him for all that he had, all that he was. He could have had anything in this world that he wanted and he had to take the one thing that I wanted. I could not forgive him for that." He raised his head. "And I could not forgive you for wanting him in return." Erik sighed. "But that time has passed and I am not that person any longer; that is why I came today. I came to seek your forgiveness so that I can move on with my life."

"And if Raoul had been alive," Christine wondered bitterly, "would you have asked his forgiveness, as well?"

"I do not know," Erik replied truthfully.

"You do not know?" Christine stared at Erik for a moment, breathing heavily through her nose, trying to compose the rage that boiled the blood flowing through her veins. "My husband died alone and in pain. He died despairing of our marriage. He died thinking I did not love him." Christine closed her eyes, lowering her head. "Oh God, Raoul," she breathed softly. "He died without knowing he was going to be father." She opened her eyes again. "He was tortured and cut and burned. He was left alone in that place, watching as the wick shrank, knowing he would be blown apart." Christine raised a furious visage to the man in front of her. "And you do not know if you would have sought his forgiveness?" She was angry and incredulous. "I cannot believe you!"

"I would have," Erik relented in the face of Christine's despair and anger.

"It is too late!" she told him with a shake of her head. "It is too late," she repeated. "Raoul is dead and I hope you are finally happy!"

Erik took a step forward, his hands held out in supplication. "I am not happy," he told Christine. "I would not have wished this for you … for him."

Christine moved away from the outstretched hands, walking across the room to the door, unlocking it and holding it open. "It does not matter any longer," she said softly and turned to look at Erik. "I think you should just leave."

"Christine, please," Erik pleaded. "I am sorry. I did not …" his words were cut short by the look that passed over Christine's face.

"Oh God," Christine breathed, her hand tightening on the door, the color draining from her face.

Erik moved quickly across the room as Christine began to sink to her knees, a single hand reaching for her abdomen.

"Not the baby," she whispered in a terrified voice, pain etching her ghostly features as an invisible demon reached in, twisting her insides into a knot. A wail escaped Christine's lips the likes of which Erik had never before heard. "Not my baby, too!"

Marcel and Marie entered the room just as Erik was lifting Christine into his arms.

"What have you done to her?" Marie demanded.

"Do not ask foolish questions!" Erik told her. "Someone must go for a doctor!" Erik looked at the two faces before him. "Quickly!" he snapped.

"Not my baby," Christine kept whispering, her fingers clenching and unclenching with each pain that ripped across her mid-section. "Not my baby."

Marie turned frightened eyes toward her brother who was already halfway out the front door. "Marcel …" she said.

"I will be back as quickly as possible," Marcel shouted as he slammed the front door behind himself, the sound of pounding hooves echoing down the drive heard a moment later.

Marie turned her attention back to Christine.

"Please, God," Christine whimpered, beads of sweat beginning to accumulate on her forehead. "Do not take my baby, too." She turned to look at Erik. "I am sorry. I am sorry. I did not mean it - any of it. I forgive you. I know you never meant to hurt me – to hurt Raoul." Her fingers gripped tightly to the front of his shirt. "Do not let them take my baby! Not my baby!"

Erik looked at the terrified woman cradled in his arms and did not know what to say, what to do.

"Upstairs," Marie ordered, taking charge. "Now."

Erik did not hear her and continued to stare at Christine. He watched as she winced, arching her back as another pain stabbed at her.

"Now!" Marie said as she grabbed at Erik's arm, pulling him back to the moment.

"Yes," Erik breathed softly, following Marie up the stairs and into a bedroom. He gently placed Christine down as Marie crossed the room to the dresser, coming back with a damp cloth.

"Not my baby," Christine kept whispering as Erik held her hands, Marie wiping the sweat from her face. "Please do not take my baby."

An hour later Erik paced back and forth outside the closed door to Christine's bedroom, perfectly aware of the glares he was receiving from Marie and Marcel. And not caring. He paused in his meandering to stare at the closed door thinking that, if he just looked long enough, his gaze would be able to bore through the solid wood to see inside. Erik could not stand the silence beyond the closed door, could not stand that he had been ushered from Christine's side upon the doctor's arrival. He could not stand the guilt and responsibility he felt for her collapse. Erik shook his head; all he had ever brought to Christine was sorrow; and all he had ever wanted for her was to be loved and happy. Erik felt as a hand grabbed at his arm and he raised his head to look at Marie.

"If she loses that baby," Marie hissed, "I will kill you myself."

"You need not take such an action, Mademoiselle," Erik told her. "If Christine loses her baby, I shall do it for you."

"Good," Marcel muttered under his breath. He did not know who this strange, disfigured man was but he did not like him. He did not like the way he had barged in, demanding to see the Vicomtess. And Marcel most certainly did not like waiting with him outside the closed door while the doctor attended to his sister's friend.

Erik turned to him, an angry retort on his lips, the sound of an opening door stopping him. He turned his face to the man who came out of Christine's bedroom. "Well?" he demanded.

The doctor eyed Erik suspiciously. "Are you the one who upset her?" he asked.

Erik did not have time for the man's inane questions. "Did she lose her child?" he snarled between clenched teeth.

"Monsieur Coulliard," Marie asked in a far gentler tone of voice. "How is Madame?"

Alain Coulliard turned to Marie. He had first seen Christine a week ago when Marie and her sister-in-law had brought the young woman to his office in the city proper for a consultation. He had listened in wonder as Christine told him her whole story and Alain – who had been treating various members of Boulogne-sur-mer for close to twenty years – had agreed to take on a new patient. "She is fine," he told her.

"What of her child?" Erik nearly shouted, his exasperation growing by the minute.

Alain turned back to him. "She did not lose her child," he said and watched as the anger and exasperation and fear fled from the three people around him. "But," he cautioned them, "this was a warning for her. She can have no further upsets if she is to carry this child to term successfully." His eyes narrowed at Erik. "I should not have to tell you how much this baby means to a young woman who has recently been widowed."

Erik shook his head. "You do not, sir," he said and swallowed his pride. "I am sorry. I am just …" he shook his head. "I am just worried for her."

Marie, too, relented for Christine's sake. "We all are," she said as she nodded her head toward Erik before turning back to the doctor. "What do you need us to do?"

Alain heaved a sigh of relief; at last someone was taking charge, making sense. "I am ordering Christine to bed for the next two weeks. I do not want her walking anywhere. I want her quiet and I want her resting." He smiled at Marie. "That will mean chamber pots," Alain told her; he knew of the money. "Shall I send a nurse to stay?"

"That will not be necessary," Marcel piped up before his sister could. "Bettina and I have small children; we are used to such things. I know she will want to help."

"And it does not bother me," Marie told him with a smile. "What else do you require?"

"I have a list of things I am going to insist be done for Christine," he told them and turned to Erik. "But first she is asking to see you."

Erik let out the breath he did not realize he was holding and moved toward the door to Christine's bedroom. He found himself stopped by the doctor's hand on his arm; Erik met the man's eyes.

"It is against my better judgement to send you in to see her," Alain told him, "but she is insisting." He lowered his voice. "I do not know what you did but I will lay odds that you are the cause of this near tragedy. Do not let it happen again!"

Erik nodded at the doctor. "It will not," he assured him quietly and moved past, opening the bedroom door, stepping into the room and gently closing the door behind him. "Christine?" he asked.

Christine lay on the bed, propped up by pillows. She had her head turned to look out the windows toward the ocean off in the distance and her hands were resting gently over her abdomen. "I am sorry," she whispered without turning her head.

Erik quickly crossed the room, standing by her bedside. His heart was breaking that she would not turn to look at him. "It is I who need to beg for forgiveness." He shook his head. "I was being selfish in thinking that I could see you after you lost the man you loved." A part of Erik was surprised at how easily those words slipped through his lips. "All I really wanted to do was just to apologize for everything I had done to you and to Raoul." He held his hands out helplessly to her. "I never meant for this to happen."

"I know," Christine whispered. She turned her head back but would not look at Erik, instead fixing her gaze upon the plastered ceiling. "Your apology is accepted." She finally turned to Erik. "Thank you."

Erik hesitantly lowered himself to the bed so that he could sit next to Christine. "I thought you happy and safe with your Vicomte," he began. "I had never thought to see you again." He managed a funny little smile. "I have been trying to build my own life in the world and I thought I was doing well at it until I heard that Raoul had," Erik knew he had to say it. "That he had been murdered. I knew it was too late, then, to apologize to him but I knew that I needed your forgiveness." He reached out and laid a hand on Christine's arm. "I want you to know that if I could trade places with Raoul, I would willingly do so." He sighed, shaking his head. "I owe it to Raoul for all that I stole from you both to ensure that you have a healthy child and I will do whatever it takes to see that such a joyous event comes to pass." He gently squeezed the arm he held. "I would give anything to make you happy, to see you smile."

Christine sniffled. "I want what you cannot give me."

"You know I would give you the very heavens, Christine!" Erik exclaimed.

Tears formed at the edges of Christine's eyes. "I want my husband back," she whispered as the tears slipped from her eyes. "I want my husband back," she repeated as a sob escaped her lips.

Erik reached down to draw Christine into his embrace.

"I want my husband back!" she wailed as the pent-up tears of a long month finally broke free. Christine buried her head in Erik's shoulder, her fingers digging into the back of his shirt. "I want my husband back," came the muffled words distorted by her sobs.

Erik could do nothing but hold her close as Christine cried out sorrow drawn from the very depths of her soul.


	38. Chapter 38

**Chapter Summary:** Louis returns to the aftermath of Nico's "episode". Raoul finds comfort in his "angel". Monique is not feeling well and neither is Philippe and Xavier finds himself tending to them both. And Henri's reaction to his homecoming is rather odd.

CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT

The dirt road meandered up the hill outside of Grenoble. It was thin and slightly overgrown but bore signs of recent use – the ruts cut into the grass and weeds from a heavy wagon were testament to that fact. The road led to an isolated farm that had seen its fair share of tenants come and go; there was something about trying to eke out a living from a rocky hillside that deterred all but the hardiest of souls. Now the farmhouse was let during the spring and summer seasons for the enjoyment of those who could afford such things. No one wanted to be in the hills when the heavy snows and blowing winds of winter would rush down from the high peaks. But it was highly doubtful that the men who currently resided in the stone farmhouse gave a care about such things.

Now – as the sun began to rise about the mountains - Louis urged his horse along that dirt road. He raised his head at the brightly shining orb and sighed – all he wanted was a mug of strong wine and a comfortable bed. He had ridden throughout the night, not giving a thought to the dangers of dark roads; Louis could very well care for himself. Louis' rear was numb and the muscles in his legs were beginning to cramp. He reached down to run a hand along the neck of his mount – the horse was just as tired. A slight smile crossed his lips as the horse clopped through the gate and into the courtyard of the farmhouse. Louis closed his eyes and sighed as he pulled back on the reins, the horse whinnying gratefully at the cessation of motion. Louis opened his eyes, looking toward the barn, wondering how the guest was faring when he saw the open iron box in the middle of the courtyard. Stiff and numb muscles were forgotten as Louis quickly dismounted and sprinted into the farmhouse.

"What the hell is happening here?" he demanded as he burst through the front door.

"In here," a voice called back.

Louis turned toward the sound of that voice and quickly entered the kitchen. "Jesus Christ," he breathed as he stopped in the doorway, taking in the sight before him.

Francois sat at the table, back rigid against his simple chair. His eyes were bloodshot and drooping and a gun rested on the table before him, his fingers curled around its grip.

Across from Francois, Nico sat in a similar chair, a smile on his lips, his eyes wide and innocent. "Welcome back," he said without taking his eyes from Francois. "I would stand," Nico continued and looked down at his chained body before finally raising his eyes to look at Louis, "but I am rather tied up at the moment." Nico laughed at his own humor.

"Jesus Christ," Louis repeated and his mind finally began to function. "Where the hell is he?" he shouted at Francois.

"In the barn," Francois answered, "where he belongs."

"Alive?" Louis demanded.

"No thanks to our Nico," Francois grimaced. "Our friend has a bit of a banged up head and he had a few hours in the box. I do not think he is thinking or seeing too clearly." Francois' fingers uncurled from about the gun. "I had to drug Nico so that I could get our friend out of the box." He shrugged. "I did not know what else to do so I chained him in that chair and I have been sitting here with him ever since." Francois yawned. "Maybe now I can get some damn sleep."

Louis closed his eyes, breathing deeply through his nose as he struggled to compose himself. His head turned toward Nico as his eyes opened. "What the hell were you thinking?" He shouted. "You know we need him alive! Miserable but alive!" He towered over the sitting man. "Broken but alive! Alive - do you have any concept of the word?"

"I had a lapse of judgement," Nico said softly. "It is pitiable but it will not happen again."

"Goddamn right it will not happen again," Louis snarled. "You can stay right there till we get back from the barn." He turned toward Francois. "You. With me. Now!" he ordered.

Louis and Francois left the room, knowing that Nico's eyes followed them as they moved past. They did not see the deadly gleam that came to those eyes once they left.

"It will never happen again," Nico said in a strange voice to the still room, the mad fire dancing in his eyes the only movement from a deathly still body.

A strange fire also danced in the eyes of another body also held still by chains. The blue gleam in Raoul's eyes was also bore a touch of madness in its desperate gaze.

"What is it?" he wondered. "What do you hear?"

The angel turned from where she stood looking over the stall door. _"There is someone coming,"_ she said.

"No," Raoul breathed, his head falling to his chest. "Oh no."

The angel moved easily across the stall, kneeling by his side, placing gentle hands on his face. _"It is all right,"_ she told him. _"I am here now and as long as you stay with me, they cannot hurt you."_

"I cannot take anymore," Raoul told her, unable to keep the cry from his voice. "Everything hurts and I am tired." His head shook slightly. "I am so tired."

"_I know, my love,"_ the angel whispered. _"I know."_

"Make it go away," Raoul whispered back. "Please make it go away."

"_If you hold to me, I will give you the strength to survive this."_ The angel lightly rested her cheek against Raoul's. _"Your child and I will give you the strength to survive this."_

"Our child," Raoul echoed as he turned his head, feeling the softness of the angel's curls under his nose, the scent of lilies rising up his nostrils, lulling his stressed, confused senses, sending him to a happier time and place.

"Jesus Christ," Louis repeated as he and Francois stood in the stall door. "Who the hell is he talking to?"

"Damned if I know," Francois said; he turned to look at Louis. "I told you."

The angel by Raoul's side turned to look at the men. _"I will not let you hurt him again," _she hissed, wrapping her arms protectively about him.

"Angel," the softly spoken word escaped unbidden from Raoul's lips.

Louis stood silent for a moment as he assessed the situation. "We need to get him in the house for a little while; there will be hell to pay if he goes mad." He turned to Francois. "I do not think any of us – Nico included – want to see what will happen if he does." Louis turned his attention back to Raoul. "Help me get him upstairs and we can take shifts keeping Nico away from him." He walked across the stall to Raoul's unconscious figure. "Bed for you, my lad."

Even as Raoul's chains were released and he was half-carried, half-dragged to a makeshift bed on the floor of an upstairs room in the farmhouse, over a hundred miles away in a comfortable country estate, Monique, too, was being placed in bed.

"But, Xavier," she tried protesting as her husband drew the summer sheets about her. "I do not need to sleep." A thin hand covering a yawn gave lie to her words.

"You have not been eating," he reminded her as he sat down beside her. "You have been restless." A hand went to Monique's face to trace the dark circles beneath her eyes. "I can see how ill you are becoming." He tried looking stern but failed, giving his wife a wan smile instead. "I cannot bear to see you in such a state." Xavier shook his head. "I do not think I can stand any further loss."

A shocked look crossed Monique's face. "I am sure it is nothing!" she insisted. "I am just worn from the events of this last month. You do not need to fear for me!"

"I am your husband," Xavier reminded her. "It is my duty to fear for you."

"You have always feared for me," Monique told him and raised a shaky hand to rest it against Xavier's cheek. "Yet I am still here. I shall always be here." She closed her eyes as she yawned again. "I have not left for these twenty years and I am certainly not leaving now."

"No," Xavier agreed. "You are certainly not leaving. You are going to stay in this bed and sleep while I go and check on Philippe."

Monique's eyes flew open and she struggled to sit. "Oh, but I want to see him, too!" Another yawn escaped her lips.

"Perhaps, next time?" Xavier wondered.

"Perhaps," Monique told him as she fell back to her pillows, watching as Xavier turned to look over his shoulder. Monique watched as one of the maids entered her bedroom, a silver tray in the girl's hands.

"I had Cook prepare some of your favorite tea," Xavier said and motioned for the girl to place the tray on the bedside table; he waved her off and lifted the lid from a covered china plate.

"Oh," Monique said as a small smile crossed her face. "Lemons!" She turned to her husband. "How did you manage?"

"I have my methods." Xavier prepared a cup of tea for his wife, placing two lemon slices in the amber liquid, adding a teaspoon of honey and handing to Monique. "Just how you prefer, honey and lots of lemon."

Monique sipped at her tea. "It is wonderful," she sighed. "I am tired," she admitted and watched as Xavier placed the teacup back on the tray. "I believe I shall have that rest and maybe tonight I shall try some clear broth."

Xavier took her hand and raised it to his lips. "That is the first sensible thing you have said in days," he told her. "I shall tell Philippe you sent your regards."

"Thank you," Monique yawned and settled her head into her pillow. "And you promise to tell me everything when you return."

"Everything," Xavier whispered as he ran a gentle hand down his wife's dark hair, watching her breathing fall into the regular pattern of sleep before standing and leaving the room. He looked at the maid who waited in the hallway. "No one is to disturb Madame," he ordered, "she must rest."

The maid dropped a small curtsey. _"Oui, monsieur," _she answered him. "It shall be done as you wish."

"Good," Xavier muttered as he left the girl on guard outside the door to his wife's bedroom and left_ Cote de Vallee_ to ride the familiar roads to Chagny.

Xavier cautiously rode over the countryside, his thoughts racing in circles. There were the worrisome thoughts over his wife; it had been several years since he had seen her ill and he took no pleasure in her distress. He worried over Didier who had left chasing after Henri over a week ago – no word had been received from either young man since. Xavier drew his horse up as he approached the end of the drive that led to Chagny, the huge chateau looming before him. He noted that the flags that normally announced the Comte was in residence no longer flew from their pinnacles. "Philippe," he muttered in a strange voice and gently nudged his horse forward.

Xavier hastily climbed the stairs leading to the front door of Chagny, taking them two at a time, tearing his riding gloves from his hands. He did not bother to knock on the great door but simply opened it, glaring at the startled valet who was rising to his feet. "Where is Monsieur le Comte?" Xavier demanded.

"In … in … in …" the young man stuttered and drew himself together. "Monsieur is in his study," the valet replied and reached out a hand to Xavier who was already striding down the hall. "But he does not wish to be disturbed."

"When has that ever stopped me?" Xavier said as he opened the door to Philippe's study. He stood quietly in the door, his eyes struggling to grow accustomed to the dark room.

"What?" came the softly spoken words.

Xavier shook his head and slammed the door shut behind him, walking across the room and flinging open the drapes before turning to stare at the man in the chair behind the desk. "_Merde_, Philippe," he breathed.

"Precisely," Philippe responded, his eyes blinking away the light that suddenly flooded his study.

"When was the last time you ate?" Xavier wondered as his eyes raked over Philippe's disheveled appearance. "When was the last time you changed your clothes? For God's sake, Philippe! When was the last time you even moved from that damn chair?"

Philippe shrugged. "I ate … something … last night. I could not taste it but it smelled like food. I changed my clothes this morning but shaving seems to a silly thing to do." He turned his head to look at the mantle clock. "And I was out of this chair an hour ago when the mail was delivered." He turned blank eyes back to look at Xavier. "There was a telegram from Arthur – he is returning in two days time for he can find no trace of Christine. The staff in Paris thought she was coming back here with her maid. The people who might know where she is are protecting her secret with a loyalty that is to be admired were it not so damn aggravating. My sisters have both returned to their families. Henri has disappeared and Didier with him. Neither you nor Monique have been here for days. And what is left of my brother lies rotting in a crypt. This house is large and silent and slowly driving me mad."

"I should just walk out that door and leave you here to wallow in your self-pity," Xavier told him, his tone of voice angry and irritated.

Philippe waved a hand toward thedoor of the study.

Xavier blew out a long breath and crossed to where Philippe sat, grabbing his arms and pulling him to his feet. "If you do not stop, I am going to hit you," Xavier warned.

"I am sure it has been done between our families before," Philippe answered with a raised eyebrow.

"Philippe," Xavier hissed between clenched teeth.

The two men stared at each other - Philippe finally breaking the silent impasse. "I cannot stand the quiet of this place anymore," he told Xavier. "I never realized how large and how silent it can be. I never realized how loud the sound of my own footfalls could be." He closed his eyes in pain. "I never realized how many ghosts hide in the shadows."

"Philippe," Xavier said, his tone no longer angry. "Philippe," he tried again. "Open your eyes and look at me." Xavier waited until Philippe had once again opened his eyes. "I am sorry I did not come before but I had business that needed attention and when I returned I found that Monique was feeling poorly."

His words startled a reaction out of Philippe. "Monique? She is ill?"

"It is just one of those episodes that she has had over the years," Xavier told him, trying to reassure the man to whose arms he still held. "I think these last weeks have been too much for her. I left her with a cup of her favorite tea and a maid to keep watch. She was drifting off to sleep when I left but she wanted me to send her regards and to tell you that she promises to be better shortly so that she can come for a visit."

"What is happening to me?" Philippe asked as his eyes searched the face of his best friend for an answer.

Xavier finally let go of Philippe's arm, waiting until Philippe had once again sank into his favorite chair before taking a nearby chair. "I think you are behaving well given the circumstances," Xavier had to admit. "I do not know that I would be doing as well."

Philippe briefly looked down at his clothes before raising his head again. "This is not like me, though," he said. "Even when my parents died, even when … when …" he swallowed in an effort to compose himself. "Even when Raoul and Christine were dealing with that man at the opera and I worried for them, I never – never! – let myself go in such a manner!" He shook his head, a puzzled look on his face. "It is almost as if my life has been torn from me …"

"Philippe," Xavier interrupted, "it has been."

Philippe rose to his feet and moved unsteadily toward the window, one arm reaching out to brace against the window frame. "I know that," Philippe admitted. "I know that but I do not know what to about it." He turned back to look at Xavier. "I cannot stand the fact that Christine is out in the world in some unknown place when she should be here with us. I do not understand Henri and this vision that seems to be haunting him."

"Vision?" The word caught Xavier's interest. "Now Henri is having visions?"

"Probably another drunken vision," Philippe said rather bitterly.

"Probably," Xavier had to agree and grew quiet, allowing Philippe to continue.

"I even begin to envy my sisters and the lives they have. I begin to hate them for the homes and families to which they have returned." Philippe sighed. "And I can no longer stand this guilt I feel for bringing Raoul and Christine here. If I had not done so, they would be anticipating the birth of their child and so would the rest of us." He ran a hand through his hair. "God, this guilt will eat me alive!"

Xavier set his lips in a thin line as he, too, rose to his feet. "Philippe, you had nothing to do with what happened to Raoul," he insisted. "And whoever it was will be found and there will be a reckoning." He took a single step forward. "I am sorry that Arthur could not find to where Christine has disappeared. I wonder if you will permit me to try? I have my own contacts in Paris, men I use when I need to learn something; perhaps I can succeed where Arthur could not?"

"You would do that?"

Xavier crossed the remaining distance to stand by Philippe, reaching out for his friend, this time the touch gentle. "You are my friend. You are grieving. The best thing in the world for you would be to have Christine here. I think it would do wonders for all concerned were she to have her child within these walls, first its cries and later its laughter bringing life back to this place." He managed a slight smile. "And to you."

Philippe struggled to keep his emotions under control. "I want nothing more than to have my brother's child and its mother here. I feel like I owe it to Raoul to ensure that Christine and their child want for nothing, worry for nothing."

"Then it is settled," Xavier nodded once. "I shall leave for Paris in a day's time."

"But what of Monique?" Philippe wondered. "Should you leave her when she is not feeling well?"

"I am sure it is nothing," Xavier replied. "She has experienced these things before and – while they come on her gradually – she has great recuperative powers. I am sure Monique will be on her feet within a day and here keeping you company shortly after."

"I do not want to be the cause of bringing her any further distress."

Xavier huffed. "Philippe, it will cause her more distress were she to see you in this condition!" Xavier looked his friend up and down. "You need to have a bath. You need to shave. You need to change your clothes and you need to get a decent meal inside your belly." He tilted his head. "Then you will be presentable enough for my wife."

Philippe let out a long breath. "Will you stay while I clean up?"

"I shall," Xavier replied. "And I shall ask Mathilde to get us something to eat while you are cleaning. I know your favorite foods and I believe that between the two of us, we can find something to tempt you. I shall even have something to eat with you and we can discuss what you would like me to do in Paris while we eat." He placed a comradely arm about Philippe's shoulders. "I believe I shall even send word out to try and locate Henri and Didier."

"I do not even care if they are found hung over in a ditch," Philippe told him as they walked into the hallway, "as long as they are found."

The sound of the front door opening drew their attention.

"Henri!" Philippe exclaimed as his cousin walked in.

Henri stopped just inside the front door, the color draining from his face as he saw Philippe and Xavier.

"Where have you been!" Philippe demanded.

"And where is my cousin?" Xavier added.

"Didier and I parted company at the crossroads just outside of town," Henri said, his unblinking eyes never leaving the faces of the men before him, turning to Xavier. "He was returning to your home just as I returned here."

"Where have you been!" Philippe tried again. "I have been frantic with worry! I am responsible to your parents for your continued well-being!"

"I just needed to get away," Henri told them, studying their faces. "I just needed to get away," he repeated softly before fleeing up the grand staircase.

Philippe and Xavier stood stunned as they stared after the young man, the sound of a slamming door echoing from above.

"What do you make of that?" Xavier wondered.

"I begin to think that no one will ever be able to make anything of Henri," Philippe muttered and sighed. "I should go and change." He grimaced. "Maybe even look in on Henri."

"And I think," Xavier began, "that it would be best to leave Henri alone. He was with Didier so I am sure that they did not get into any difficulties. And - amazingly enough - I do believe that Henri is sober. He will come to you when he is ready," he finished."

"You are right," Philippe told him. "Will you tend to the meal and I shall see you in thirty minutes?" He cracked a small smile. "You have free run of my home."

"Something my ancestors always wanted," Xavier winked at him.

"But something only we could have accomplished," Philippe said, his voice warm and sincere.

"Only us," Xavier agreed. "Only us."


	39. Chapter 39

**Chapter Summary:** Erik and Christine continue to struggle in their efforts to make peace. He bids her good bye – for the time being. Christine finds comfort in a sweater. Meg finds comfort with her mother. Tallis reaches an uncomfortable truce with Val – her comfort coming in the arms of another.

CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT

"Give me your hands," Alain Coulliard told Christine, taking the offered hands. "Now, I am slowly going to raise you to a sitting position. If you feel dizzy or nauseous, I wish you let me know."

Christine sighed. "I have been in this bed for two weeks, if I do not get up soon, I shall become very silly."

"I do not think you could ever be silly," Alain told his patient and began to gently pull on her hands. "And you have been very good about obeying my orders."

"I would do anything for my baby," Christine said and closed her eyes. "The room …" she said and swallowed hard.

"We will pause for a moment," Alain said. "You open your eyes when you are ready."

Christine nodded and waited with her eyes closed for another minute, slowly slitting them open. "I think," she breathed. "I think I am ready."

Alain lifted Christine the rest of the way to an upright position, keeping hold of her hands as she sat swaying lightly on the edge of her bed. "It is well?" he wondered and watched as Christine nodded her head. "Then let us take the next step and try standing." Alain watched as Christine's hands crept up his arms, gripping them tightly. "We shall go on three, yes?" he asked as he tightened his hold on his patient.

"Yes," Christine replied, her voice trembling with nervous anticipation. "Three."

"One, two," Alain gave Christine a moment to brace herself. "Three," he said and lifted Christine to her feet, keeping hold of her arms. "How do you feel?"

"A trifle unsteady."

"It shall pass. Any pain or cramping?"

"No," Christine said hesitantly. "No," she repeated a look of amazement crossing her face. "No!" she cried and flung her arms about the doctor's neck. "No, no, no!"

Alain patted her lightly on the back. "That is a very good thing." He drew back so that he could look at his patient's face. "But that does not mean I wish for you to do anything foolish. I want you to take things slowly. I do not want you traipsing all over the countryside. If you feel dizzy or tired, I wish you to rest. I want you to spend as much time in the garden as you feel comfortable with for the air will do you good." He smiled as Christine solemnly nodded her head. "I shall leave further instructions with Marie." Alain gave her a solemn smile. "You are to follow all my directions without question."

"It is a promise," Christine told him, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. "Thank you," she whispered softly. "Thank you for saving my baby."

A crooked smile crossed Alain's face. "I did have some help," he assured her. "Now I must go but I shall come back in a week to look in on you. If anything happens before then …"

"I shall send for you immediately," Christine finished.

"Good girl," Alain said as he turned on his heel, gathered his black bag from the end of the bed and walked out the door, giving a purposeful glare to the man standing in the corner.

Christine waited until the door had closed behind Alain before turning her attention to Erik. "I will be fine," she told him.

Erik kept his hands crossed over his chest as he leaned against the wall. "I heard," he grumbled.

Christine let out an angry breath and walked slowly to the window, pushing it open and staring at the ocean off in the distance. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, smelling each wave on the air, the scent sending her back to a happier time and place. Christine could feel the tears on her cheeks and she stiffened as she felt a pair of strange hands on her shoulders. "Please do not touch me," she told her former teacher.

Erik withdrew his hands and was surprised at the angry look Christine gave him as she turned from the window.

"Do you know why I came to this place?" she asked and did not wait for an answer. "I came because it is near to the sea. Raoul and I first met as children by the sea and I came here so that I could hold to that memory. I came here in the hope that doing so would allow me to keep my husband's memory alive and vibrant. I came here so that I could remember a beautiful boy with gold hair - hair that was not red with his blood." Christine's lips turned into a frown. "And when you touch me, my skin crawls because it is not Raoul's hands touching me." The tears were streaming down her cheeks. "Those gentle hands that never touched me with anything other than love. Those beautiful hands that those evil creatures tore to shreds."

Erik was pained. "Christine, please," he pleaded with her, "you must not upset yourself. I could not … I cannot …" he found himself reaching for her, his hands pausing halfway between them.

"My skin crawls because I remember his hands, his voice," she whispered, her gaze becoming unfocused, unable to see the shocked look on Erik's face. "That … that … that monster who murdered my husband , who was waiting for me the day I left … who …" she finally focused on the hands that were suddenly on her arms.

"What?" Erik snarled all traces of humility suddenly gone.

Christine shook her head.

"What happened?" Erik demanded, desperately fighting down the urge to shake the woman in his arms.

Christine lowered her eyes, her voice distant and hollow. "I stopped at Raoul's cr … oh God … I wanted to say goodbye to my husband and leave him the gift I had purchased." A sad smile crossed her face. "I had brought a Saint Joseph medallion and I was going to give it to Raoul on the day I told him he was going to be a father." Christine's chin trembled. "There were two men there – one had a mask and the other I did not see but they said they had a message from Raoul." She shook her head. "The one I could not see put his hand over my mouth and drew me to him, his gun on my cheek … at my back … he said things …" Christine lifted her head and looked toward the window. "And I did not believe them but they said Perros and I knew that only Raoul would know that." She turned back to Erik, the tears dripping from her chin. "That man … that creature … those hands … I will never be able to forget that feeling."

"Oh, Christine," Erik said as he gathered her in his arms, gently patting her back as she sobbed into his shoulder, his own guilt ripping a hole in his heart as he remembered his actions toward Tallis. He let go of Christine as she began to pull away from him. "I am so sorry you had to endure that." Anger flashed in his eyes. "If I were to ever find that man I would kill him for that alone."

Christine's eyes flashed Erik's anger back at him. "Now you know how I feel," she told him as she wiped at her tears. "I am so angry!" Christine said between clenched teeth. "I am so angry at everything!"

"I wish I could take your anger away," Erik replied softly.

"I know," Christine sighed. "But you cannot." She shook her head. "Nor can you stay here forever; you must return to Paris."

"I am expected to leave you here with only a maid and her country family to care for you and your child?" Erik was incredulous.

"Marie," Christine emphasized the name, "is perfectly capable of doing anything – as is her family. And I can care for myself," a nasty smile momentarily crossed her lips, "and Raoul's baby perfectly fine on my own."

Erik stared at her. "I am not forgiven, am I?"

Christine did not even have to pause for thought. "Perhaps not," she admitted. "But how can you honestly expect me to forgive you when I have yet to forgive myself?"

"It was too much to hope," Erik replied softly, taking one of Christine's hands and raising it, his lips brushing against the back of her knuckles, lingering on her wedding rings. "I pray you and your child well, Vicomtess; and should you so permit, I would like to return in a fortnight," he gave Christine a wistful smile, "just to ensure my troubled mind that you continue to be well."

Christine sniffled. "I could not stop you if I wanted," she answered and nodded tiredly. "In a fortnight. I shall see the guest room is ready for you."

"Till then," Erik whispered as he turned on his heel, crossing to the door and giving one last look back before closing the door behind him.

Christine crossed the room and placed her ear against the door; she could hear Erik's footsteps as they descended the staircase. She could hear voices wafting up from the first floor and smiled; Marie was giving Erik a lecture and Christine smiled – Marie could hold her own against anyone. She drew back from the door, and turned to the room, walking across to kneel in front of a small trunk. Christine's hands reached for the lock, pausing, trembling before touching it, opening it. She reached in and pulled out an ivory cable-knit sweater. Christine closed the trunk and moved to the rocking chair near the open window. She sat down in the chair, closing her eyes as she drew the sweater to her nose.

"Raoul," she breathed as the tears came again, the smell of Raoul's cologne on his sweater bringing them forth from the darkness in which Christine had kept them locked.

_She shook the small leafless tree, the powdery snow showering him in diamond dust._

"_That is not fair," Raoul said as he turned around, brushing the snow from his sweater, "you snuck up on me."_

_Christine bounced on her toes, her cheeks a bright pink from more than the early winter chill. "It is the only way I can ever win with you."_

_Raoul's eyes twinkled merrily. "Is it now, Madame?" he wondered, a wicked grin curling his lips._

_Christine began to back away, preparing to run for their home. "It is, indeed, sir," she tried, a nervous laugh escaping. _

"_Vicomtess," Raoul replied taking one step forward for every two that Christine took backwards._

"_Vicomte," Christine giggled._

_Raoul shook his head. "Christine."_

"_Raoul." Christine winked at him before turning on her heel and running for the house, her heels slipping on the icy walkway. She let out a shriek as she began to tumble forward only to find herself suddenly caught up in two strong arms, pulled into a warm embrace, a beating heart beneath her ear. "You always catch me," she said softly as she wrapped her arms about her husband._

"_I shall never let you fall," Raoul whispered back as she raised her face to him. "Never," he repeated as he reached down for the lips that sought his …_

The tears continued to flow as Christine drew Raoul's sweater to her heart with one hand, the other going to rest gently over her child. "And I shall never let you fall," she promised her baby, her eyes closing as Christine surrendered to sleep and the dreams it brought forth, a final whispered prayer, "Oh, Raoul."

"Oh, Maman," Meg whispered as she turned from the watching her husband in the garden. "I wish you would let me go to her."

Antoinette shook her head. "You know her wishes; Christine is trying – at least she believes she is trying - to protect her child."

Meg huffed and flounced over to where her mother was seated, plopping down on the damask-covered sofa. "But I would not let her secret slip!"

"My dear," Antoinette said as she shook her head. "It is more than likely that you would let her secret slip when you are having one of your scatter-brained moments."

"Maman!" Meg was rather horrified.

Antoinette reached for her daughter's hand. "Marguerite, I love you more than my very life," she began gently. "But that does not mean I am blind to your faults and you must admit that there are times when you become so excited that you do not think before you speak." She lightly squeezed the hand she held as Meg opened her mouth. "I know you have gotten much better at thinking first and speaking second over these years but Christine is a very troubled young woman at the moment. We must do nothing to further trouble her."

"I suppose," Meg pouted and raised a delicately arched eyebrow at her mother. "But you sent Erik."

"I did," Antoinette admitted. "I sent him because I know he will never divulge Christine's whereabouts even under the threat of death. And I sent him because I know neither one of them – Erik or Christine – will ever be free of their pasts, free to move forward with their lives, until they can find it within their hearts to forgive themselves, to forgive each other."

"Do you think that will ever happen?" Meg wondered.

"Oh, my dear," Antoinette sighed, "I do hope such a thing comes to pass." She sighed. "I am getting far too old to manage the lives of the young."

"Maman!" Meg exclaimed.

"Oh, do not fret yourself, child," she replied, patting Meg's hand. "I am not about to vanish from the face of this earth; but I should dearly love a few years without the turmoil that so often accompanies the lives of the young." A crooked smile crossed Antoinette's face. "I should love to be able to putter about my garden or walk in the park or just sit and read a book without having to worry that the lives of my beloved young people are being tossed and turned by the winds of emotional upheaval."

"You would not know what to do with such quiet!" Meg grinned at her mother. "Perhaps, Val and I should do something about adding a grandchild to disturb this peace you seek."

Antoinette laughed delightedly. "I should like nothing better," she admitted and grew serious. "Ah – but I do not relish the thought of having to share your child with the Dowager Baroness."

"Nor do I," Meg frowned. "At least we are not venturing there for our annual summer visit." She sniffled back tears. "Raoul's death and my concern for Christine are reasons for Val and me to stay in Paris that even she understands." Meg looked at her mother with concern. "I just hope Tallis understands and will still wish to visit her parents."

Both women turned their attention to the windows that looked out over the back garden.

"Somehow I doubt that," Antoinette muttered beneath her breath.

Tallis, too, was struggling with her doubts. "I just do not know," she told Val as her fingers fiddled with the folds of her skirt. She was sitting with Val on the wrought iron bench beneath the shade of the oak trees.

"My wife does not wish to be more than two days from the Vicomtess should she be needed," Val said gently. "And my mother understands that; she understands our need to remain in Paris this summer after what has happened. That does not mean you should not return; I know your parents would love to see you."

"But the cost," Tallis tried weakly, grasping at straws.

"You know I would cover the cost," Val reminded her and watched as Tallis worried her bottom lip between her teeth; Val let out a long breath and leaned back on the bench. "This desire of yours to remain here, to forgo the visit to your parents has nothing to do with the cost, does it?" There was no answer from the woman sitting beside him but Val did note that she turned her head away. "It has everything to do with Monsieur Herrin, does it not?"

"Yes," Tallis admitted sheepishly.

"I suspected as much." Val shook his head sadly. "I wish I were wrong," he finished rather sadly.

Tallis turned to him, amazed curiosity on her face. "What? Why?"

"I do not wish to offend you but I am going to speak my mind," Val told her. "Your family has always had my family's respect over the many years and generations in which we have been joined together. That did not change when I inherited the title. Nor did my own personal respect change for the sensitive young woman who grew from the curious child; I would never have suggested you as a companion to my wife's mother otherwise."

"But …" Tallis urged him forward.

Some of the tenderness in Val's face was replaced by a mild sternness. "But I wish you did not harbor this fondness in your heart for Monsieur Herrin."

"For you of all people to say that to me," Tallis was stunned. "You should know that one cannot help whom they love!"

"I am perfectly aware of that," Val replied. "Yet there is a difference between loving someone whom society deems inappropriate for petty and spiteful reasons and loving someone whom society shuns for perfectly good reasons."

"Mean, hateful reasons," Tallis groused and stuck out her chin. "The world is an ignorant, self-centered place and people cannot see beyond the end of their noses!"

"It is not his face, Mademoiselle, which causes society to turn from him." Val sighed. "It is his past deeds, his actions that society will not tolerate. Society cannot tolerate such actions from anyone for to do so would lead to chaos."

Tallis crossed her arms over her chest. "Then everyone that makes up this polite society of which you speak is ignorant and lacking even simple compassion." An angry frown crossed her face. "Everyone deserves a second chance. Everyone deserves to be forgiven and to find redemption."

"They do," Val nodded in agreement, "and I will admit to a grudging respect for Monsieur Herrin. He is a talented man and to have such talent overlooked is a great loss to the world. I also must believe there is good in him for the love my wife and her mother feel toward him." He managed a small smile. "For the affection you obviously feel for him." Val grew somber again. "But, my dear, you are harboring an affection for the right side of danger and danger – no matter the side - is always to be approached with caution. Unfortunately, the heart is not always capable of caution."

Tallis blushed and lowered her eyes, unaware of the deep scrutiny her actions caused.

"What has he done to you?" Val asked, his voice assuming the tone of a lord to a vassal. "Mademoiselle, I am awaiting an answer." There was still no reply from the woman sitting next to him. "Shall I send you home to your parents in disgrace this very day?"

Tallis raised a frightened face to Val. "You would not do that!"

"Do not try my patience," he warned her. "Answer my question."

"You are just being mean," Tallis told Val as she reached up to swipe at the tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

Val relented. "I am sorry," he apologized, "but I still bear responsibility for your safe-keeping."

Tallis rose to her feet. "When I am ever going to be old enough to be responsible for myself? When am I ever going to be old enough to make my own decisions, to know my own heart and mind? When am I ever going to be allowed to live my life?"

Val studied the agitated woman before him. "You are old enough; but being a single woman means that you must still answer to someone else for your life – be that a parent, a male relation or me. Would I wish it otherwise? Yes but that is not the rules that society has laid before us as guide for functioning in the world." He drew a deep breath. "Now, has he ever done anything to you that is questionable?"

"I despise society," Tallis muttered angrily. "And Monsieur has done nothing to me that would ever cause any to believe he is the monster they think," she willingly lied. "He has been nothing but gentle and respectful. He has patiently taught me things." She paused, her lips compressing into a thin line. "And he allows me to be the person that I am. He sees my dreams and does not tell me they are foolish. Erik believes in me and I believe in him." She stomped a small foot in the dirt. "And there is nothing anyone can do to change that."

Val stared up at Tallis for a long moment before slowly rising to his feet. "I see that you are determined to walk this path on which you find yourself and there is obviously nothing I can do to deter you." He shook his head. "May I offer you a bit of advice?"

Tallis nodded, not trusting her voice.

"Do not let your heart rule your head," Val told her. "I believe there are many emotions that your Monsieur Herrin has buried deep within his heart. I do not think he even knows they are there and I do not think he will ever be free of them." Val laid a gentle hand on Tallis' arm. "While he may be capable of love, he is also capable of great hurt; I do not wish to see you the victim of that hurt. Just be careful."

"Thank you, I shall," Tallis promised him. "And I shall write to my parents and explain that I must stay in Paris." She managed a small smile. "I shall tell them that I will come to visit in the autumn when the trees are turning in the mountains."

"Then I am satisfied," Val told her, giving Tallis one last smile before walking across the garden and disappearing into Antoinette's home.

Tallis heaved a great sigh and slowly sunk back to the bench. She held her hands before her face, staring blankly at them. "What am I to do?" she asked her empty hands. Receiving no answer, Tallis placed them over her face and bent forward from her waist. "What am I to do?" she repeated.

"Do about what?" a familiar voice asked.

Tallis jumped at that sound and flung herself into Erik's arms.

"I should leave more often if this is to be my reception upon returning," he said, rather stunned at the desperate feel of Tallis' arms about his neck.

"Please do not go," she whispered as she kissed him below the ear. "Please do not go again," she said as she turned her head, her lips seeking his. "Please do not leave me alone again."

Erik brushed his lips against the soft ones of the woman in his arms. "I shall never leave you again," he whispered, claiming Tallis' lips, desperate, demanding. "I shall never leave you again."

They both knew he lied.


	40. Chapter 40

**Chapter Summary:** Val comforts Meg's nightmare and gives in to her request. And Erik beckons Tallis to a darkened garden.

_**Author's Note:** Those - "things" - that Meg makes reference to were called "French Ticklers". These days we call them condoms. _

CHAPTER FORTY

Val rolled over in the bed he shared with his wife, reaching out for her and upon finding nothing but empty space, Val sat bolt upright. "Meg," he called out, a note of panic in his voice.

There was no answer.

Val's eyes scanned the bedroom, the silver moonlight pouring in through the open drapes illuminating nothing but furniture. Val quickly got out of bed, throwing on his dressing gown before leaving the room. He moved quickly through the upstairs hallway, opening each and every door, unable to find his wife. Val ran down the stairs to the first floor and repeated his actions, still finding nothing. His heart began to pound in his chest and he could feel his whole body begin to tremble from fear. Val opened the last closed door on the first floor, the door that opened onto the stairs to the kitchen level and his breath stopped in his chest, Meg was sitting on the stairs, a shawl pulled tightly about her shoulders; Val could hear her sniffling. "Meg?" he said softly as he cautiously approached his wife, sitting down on the step next to her. "What are you doing?"

Meg just shook her head.

"You were not in our bed when I awoke and I became scared when I could not find my little ballet rat," Val told her as he reached out, his heart sinking as Meg pulled away from him.

"I would rather be that ballet rat again," she replied, her voice soft and trembling.

Val was slightly stunned. "What? Why?"

Meg shook her head and used a shawl-covered hand to wipe at her eyes. "Because then I would know what was expected of me. Because then I would know my place." She turned to look at her husband. "Because then I could not be hurt by loving someone." Meg's chin trembled as she looked at her husband and she burst into tears.

Val pulled his wife close, drawing her head to his shoulder. He kissed her head, rubbing her arm, trying to comfort Meg as her tears flowed freely. Val waited until he could feel Meg's slender shoulders stop shaking before he spoke again. "What is wrong?" he asked and felt the head on his shoulder shake. "Meg? Please! You know I cannot bear to see you like this!"

"I want to go back to the ballet," Meg whispered. "I want to go back to where I can take care of myself. I want to not have to ask servants to fetch and carry for me. I want to giggle with my friends and have men dance attendance upon me."

"Meg!" Val was shocked.

"I want to go back before I lose everything." Meg lifted a tear-streaked face to her husband. "I want to go back before I lose you."

"Oh Meg," Val replied as he placed a soft kiss on her forehead and drew her into his eyes. "Oh, my dear sweet little ballet rat. I love you. I love you more than my very life and you are not going to lose me."

"I am sure that Raoul said the same thing to Christine," Meg told him, her lips pouting.

Val shook his head. "What happened to Raoul, what has happened to Christine, is not going to happen to us."

Meg hit Val in the chest and pulled away from him. "You do not know that! Those types of people are everywhere! What if … what if there is another revolution? What if we get thrown in jail and get our heads cut off? What if some desperate men take you for ransom and kill you?" Tears streamed down her cheeks. "What if you find someone of your own class who knows all the rules and all the correct things to say and what fork to use and what dress to wear and …"

"Is that why you are sitting here – on the stairs to the kitchen?" Val wondered and placed a finger against his wife's lips as she nodded. "Meg," he began, a lone finger reaching up to brush away her tears. "From the day I first saw you whirling on the stage, I have wanted no one but you. I have never seen anyone but you. I have heard only your voice, your giggles since that day. I am the Baron whether my mother approves or not and nothing she can do can change that nor has she been able to dictate my life since the day my father died and I inherited the title and everything that goes with it. She could not have stopped me." Val smiled at his wife. "God could not have stopped me."

"Do not say that!" Meg scolded. "Please do not say that! God will hear and He will become angry and take you from me!"

"Listen to me!" Val added a touch of sternness to his normally gentle tone. "What happened to Raoul is not going to happen to me! I am here with you and I am staying here with you!"

Meg closed her eyes and nodded her head. "My head knows that," she said softly, "but my heart knows only the possibility – the fear – that it could happen to you." She opened her eyes. "I was so sure of everything when Christine was here. She and I were going to turn Paris on its ear. We were going to show them that where you came from did not matter. We would make plans and laugh about them. And now …" Meg shook her head. "And now she is a widow, with a child on the way, living in a place I do not know and she does not want me with her. I am all alone in this great house and all I can think of in the silence is that this is what it would be like without you and it frightens me!" Meg reached up a hand to palm her husband's cheek. "Why did I ever have to fall in love with you?"

Val melted into her touch. "Because if you did not, I would have died from a broken heart." He smiled at Meg. "I wish you would have told me these things sooner."

"I did not wish to worry you. You are busy with your life and you do not need to fret over the silly little no-account you married."

Val turned his head so that he could kiss the palm resting on his face. "I did not marry a silly little no-account." He turned back to Meg. "I married a silly little ballet rat who drives me to distraction and whom I am damned well certain I cannot live without."

"I cannot live without you," Meg replied and bit her bottom lip. "I want a baby." Now it was Meg's turn to place a finger against her husband's lips as he opened his mouth. "I know we agreed to wait but what has happened to Christine and Raoul has shown me that it is foolish to put things off. I do not know how I would cope if something were to happen to you and I did not have a piece of you to hold onto." Meg's lips turned down slightly. "I am sick of those … things … and I want a baby." She sniffled back her tears. "I want your baby."

Val studied his wife's face, her trembling chin, her tear-streaked cheeks, the pleading in her blue eyes. "You have no idea how much I would love to see you carry my child," Val shook his head, "but I do not want to have a child out of some desperate nightmare."

"I want your baby because I love you," Meg told him. "Is that not reason enough?"

"It is all the reason needed," Val whispered. He took his wife's hands and rose to his feet, bringing Meg with him. "I will never be able to deny you anything," he continued as he swept his wife into his arms.

Meg wrapped her arms about Val's neck, placing her head beneath his ear. "I love you," she breathed.

"I love you," Val replied as he climbed the stairs from the kitchen, carrying his wife back to bed. "And I am not going anywhere."

"I am not going anywhere," Erik was telling the woman who loved him at the same moment. He was sitting on the wall that enclosed the patio at the back of Madame Giry's home, Tallis next to him.

Erik had found sleep elusive since returning to Paris some five days earlier and on this night he had given up trying to find it. Instead he had quietly left his garret rooms and made his way through the sleeping town and into the dark woods. Eyes, used to years of opera cellar gloom, had no trouble in seeing through the deep shadows and haunted shapes. Erik moved quickly and easily through the woods until he reached the gardens at the back of Madame Giry's home. He had paused there, at the edge of the property, as he had done so many times before, questioning the sanity of his actions. What was he thinking? What did he hope to accomplish? It was the middle of the night! No sane person would approach a home in which they did not reside in the middle of the night!

"I am not exactly sane," Erik muttered, his decision made, his feet moving easily across the manicured lawn, his eyes never leaving one darkened second floor window.

He had stopped at the edge of the walled patio, his hand reaching into a potted plant and pulling out pieces of pea gravel. Erik had carefully thrown them at the window his eyes had never left, one after another, each tiny piece of stone making a "plink" noise as it tapped the glass. Finally, as his heart pounded to a stop, a shadowy shape appeared at the window, raising it, a head full of tousled hair poking out. "Come down!" Erik had ordered, the head sticking out of the window staring down at him. The head had disappeared and Erik had impatiently waited ten minutes until the shadowy shape from the window had walked through the kitchen door and into his arms.

Now Erik sat on that wall, Tallis beside him, trying to reassure her – and himself – that he was not going to leave.

"Of course, you are going to leave," Tallis told him softly, her hand in his, their fingers intertwined.

Annoyed by the noises at her window, Tallis had arisen, crossing her room, ready to shoo away the bird she was certain was pecking at the glass. She had been stunned to find Erik standing in the back garden. Angry when he ordered her down to his side. Giddy as she had thrown a simple dress over her night shift, running a brush quickly through her tangled hair and broken hearted as she had moved quietly through the darkened house, knowing that he was surely slipping away from her. Yet when she had rushed into Erik's arms, all Tallis could feel was the strength that always made her breath catch in her throat and her knees go weak.

"You want me to go," Erik said miserably, taking his hand back, standing, beginning to pace, unaware of the pained eyes that watched him in the darkness.

"I do not want you to leave," Tallis said softly. "I want to keep you here with me – always!" She refused to hang her head. "But I know that I cannot hold you."

Erik paused in his pacing. "Cannot or will not?" he wondered.

"Cannot," Tallis told him, holding out her hands, pulling them back when Erik did not reach for them. "I cannot."

"Do you even wish to try?" Erik snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. "All my life I have been searching for that one person to whom I could hold, the one person who would look past all my flaws and be willing to hold me back." An angry frown passed over his face. "I thought I had found that person in you. Perhaps, I thought wrongly."

"You did not think wrongly," Tallis replied. "I want to hold you. I think I have wanted to hold you from nearly the first moment we were introduced." She smiled. "There is something about you, about the sweet hesitancy that you hide beneath your gruff exterior, about the gentleness you insist you do not possess, that makes my heart pound and my blood race." Tallis sighed. "I see your face and I know your misdeeds and still I want to hold you; I cannot help the way I feel. I do not understand it. I do not know why it is so. All I know is that I do not wish to fight it."

"But you will not hold me!"

"I will not hold you here!" Tallis shot back, her voice rising with the emotion, the darkness of the night closing in upon her. "I cannot hold you here," she finished.

"Why not!" Erik demanded

"Because you are not mine to hold," Tallis said sniffling and wiping at the tears that threatened to overflow.

Erik crossed to her side, grasping her arms and lifting her to her feet. "I do not belong to Christine!" he told her angrily, reaching for her lips, determined to prove his words to Tallis. And to himself.

Erik felt as Tallis' arms snaked beneath his, her hands slowly creeping up his back to cling to his shoulders, her fingers massaging the taut muscles beneath his jacket. His own hands began to roam of their own accord as Tallis melted into his embrace, her body molding against his. Erik felt the uneven movement of her breasts against his chest, the sensation of their round softness – unhindered by stays or a corset – nearly driving him mad. His hands moved to the base of her spine, pulling Tallis closer to him, trying to pull her into him. Erik felt her hands move from his shoulders, down his back to the base of his own spine as she pulled him closer and closer, the touch setting him on fire. He opened his mouth against the lips pressed against his own, his tongue moving easily across them - the taste sweeter than any candy. Erik was surprised when those lips opened, allowing access, allowing his tongue to move across teeth, to intertwine with another tongue, to …

"Oh God!" Erik breathed as he shoved Tallis from him.

"What?" Tallis managed as her chest heaved from the sensations flooding her body, her hands reaching for him. "Do not stop!"

Erik took those hands and flung them away. "This is wrong!"

"Wrong?" Tallis breathed, unable to focus on anything but her pounding heart.

"This is all wrong!" Erik repeated as he turned his back, walking toward the break in the walled patio that lead to the gardens, to the woods - to home. He was surprised to find a hand grabbing his arm, whirling him around.

"You do not just do something like … like … that," Tallis began, glad for the darkness that hid her deep blush, "and walk away!"

"I should never have done that!"

"But why?" Tallis demanded, unable to keep the cry from her voice.

Erik reached a hesitant hand to her cheek. "Because I want better for you." He paused before taking Tallis by the hands and leading her to once again sit with him upon the wall. "Because for once in my life I have something that is pure and unsullied and mine alone and I do not wish to destroy it." He turned to look at Tallis. "I do not wish to destroy you as I have destroyed so many others in my life."

"That is not your choice alone," she told him.

"But it is," Erik insisted. "You will never be my mistress. You will be," he tightened his grip on the hands he held, "you **are** so much more to me." He took back one of his hands, allowing a fingertip to gently trace the contours of Tallis' face, her neck. "And when the time comes for us to be more than just friends, it will be under the rules that society and your God has set forth."

"It will never come," Tallis whispered, the words involuntarily escaping her lips.

"Perhaps not today or tomorrow but it will come!"

Tallis shook her head. "It will never come until your spirit is free. And your spirit will never be free until you can let go of Christine."

Erik thought in silence for a moment, listening to the woman beside him fighting back her tears. "You were correct," he finally said, "you cannot hold me here. And I am leaving." His heart broke at the sob that escaped from Tallis' lips and he ran a gentle hand down her arm, recapturing the hand he had freed. "I do not do this to make you weep!"

"I know," Tallis nodded, unable to stop her tears.

"Tallis," Erik began as softly and as gently as he could. "I destroyed a part of Christine in my quest to hold her, to win her, to keep her always by my side. I did even realize I had done such a thing until she turned her anger upon me - anger that I justly deserved. My sweet, innocent angel is gone and I had a good part in sending her away. I need to find some way to make it up to her, to try and restore that which I stole." Erik heaved a great sigh. "I owe it to the memory of her husband, the man I wanted to kill, the man I tried to kill. He is gone now and my angel faces an uncertain future, the only thing that even brings a smile to her face is the child she carries. I must make sure that she delivers a healthy child."

"But why!" Tallis interrupted.

"It is the only way I can hope to restore the innocence I stole from her, the innocence I stole from him, from both of them." Erik raised his eyes, vainly searching the stars for answers. "This child will be … is … the innocence I took and I will never be free until that innocence is restored." He raised a single hand to his lips. "I shall only be gone a week and then I shall return to you."

Tallis lower lip trembled. "But you will return to her again."

"And again. And again," Erik agreed. "I must be there for her until this child is born. Perhaps than …" his voice drifted away and he turned his head.

"Perhaps … than … what?" Tallis wondered.

"Perhaps than Christine will forgive me," he said softly, his voice lowering even more, "and I will finally be free to love you as you deserve."

"What?" Tallis squeaked upon hearing the one word she had longed to hear for weeks.

Erik turned back to her. "You have often said you love me," he told her, "and I know that you wish to hear those same words from my lips. Yet I will not say them to you until I am free to say them, to lay myself prostrate at your tiny feet, to offer up the black heart that you have so gradually changed into a healthy heart that is able to live, to love." There was a long moment of silence between them, Erik's impatience and frustration growing with each moment. "Will you not say something!"

"I do love you," Tallis replied. "I love you more than you shall ever know and I do long to hear you say that you love me in return." She sniffled. "It is the last thing for which I pray each night – that you will love me."

"I do want to love you," Erik said.

Tallis nodded her head. "I know, I know." Now it was her turn to sigh. "And I will wait for those words to pass your lips. As long as I know there is hope that you wish to be free of Christine and her memory, than I shall wait."

Erik lifted both of her hands to his lips. "Thank you ..." he began.

"But," Tallis interrupted him, "the moment I see that hope begin to fade, the moment I know that you would rather be with Christine, the moment I know she wants you back, I shall leave. I shall leave and you will never see me again."

"I would never!" Erik insisted.

"You would," Tallis told him as she shook her head. "You would do so and not even know you had done such a thing." Tallis leaned forward resting her smooth cheek against Erik's marred one. "And that is my greatest fear."

"I … I … I …" Erik could find no words, could only feel the softness that rested so willingly against the outward vision of his soul.

"It shall be all right," Tallis whispered into his ear, her breath a soft, loving caress against his skin. "I know you more than you know yourself and for now I am content to wait."

"Would that I had met you earlier," Erik whispered back. "I should be a far better person – a far better man – if I had done so."

Tallis turned her head, reaching for his lips, the kiss gentle and loving. "But I do not know that I would have loved that man," she said against the lips she refused to abandon, her eyes reaching deep through Erik's, into his soul. "I love you because of all the flaws, the complications, the darkness and not in spite of them."

Erik studied the gray eyes that searched his own golden ones, seeing in them calm seas, a safe harborage. He drew Tallis to him, placing her head upon his shoulder, resting his head against the brown hair that felt like spun silk. "You are my angel," he whispered.

And above them, Madame Giry listened quietly at an open window, ever vigilant when it came to those she loved. She turned and moved easily back to her bed, her eyes heavy from more than mere sleep. "Let him believe and trust in the words he so easily speaks," the prayer came from her lips; Antoinette raised her eyes to the ceiling, searching for heaven. "And let it be enough - for them both."


	41. Chapter 41

**Chapter Summary:** Monique and Didier make plans to visit Chagny. Monique has something hidden in her sitting room. After nearly two months of captivity, Raoul's spirit begins to yield to his captors even as Louis further breaks him by mere words. Nico is plotting to inflict pain on everyone. Henri breaks down in front of Didier. And Monique goes in search of Philippe.

_(**Author's Note ** - I am going to issue a_ **"Tissue Warning"** _for this chapter since it made me cry while I wrote it. It is never a good thing when the author cries over her own words ...)_

CHAPTER FORTY ONE

"Are you feeling better?" Monique asked as she stuck her head into the room of her husband's young cousin. She smiled as she saw Didier sitting on the edge of his bed.

"Much," he answered, waving for the woman he called "Aunt" to enter. Didier waited until Monique had come into the room and taken a seat by his bed before continuing. "The stomach upset and the tiredness is completely gone," he smiled. "What of you?"

"I have been feeling much better for the last few days," Monique answered, a look of apology crossing her face. "I only wish my favorite tea had been able to cure you as it did for me."

"Oh, I think your tea could not have helped with what ailed me," Didier replied as he rolled his eyes. "I think whatever it was that assailed my digestive system had more to do with the trip that Henri and I took then it did with any stomach ailment from which you suffered."

"Where did you and Henri go?"

"Away," Didier evaded.

Monique raised an eyebrow at him. "My dear child," she began, "Henri de Chagny does not just 'go' on a trip. That young man does nothing without a purpose." She grimaced. "However distasteful such a purpose may be."

Didier shook his head. "You do not know Henri like I know him or you would not say such things."

"Then tell me of the Henri you know," Monique replied, folding her hands in her lap.

"The Henri that I know is an indulged, spoilt brat, I will grant," Didier began. "That he has no concept of the word 'discipline', I shall also grant; but it is what lies beneath that exterior that is my friend. It is the little boy who is afraid of disappointing those in power." Didier smiled. "It is the young man who loves the company of warm women and good wine." And he grew serious. "And it is the man who is scared that he may one day have all that he ever wanted." Didier reached out and touched Monique's hands. "That is the Henri I know. That is the man who is my friend. That is the man whose secrets I keep and whom I shall never betray."

Monique sat silently for a moment, studying the earnest face of the young man across from her. She unfolded her hands and took the one resting on them into her embrace. "Does that young fool have any idea of how good a friend you truly are?"

Didier chuckled. "I highly doubt it." He winked at Monique. "And I am still not telling you where either of us was."

"Rogue," Monique replied with a grin as she rose to her feet. "I came to tell you that I am leaving for Chagny within the hour should you wish to accompany me."

"I would like that," Didier told her, an inquisitive look in his eyes. "Have you heard from my cousin?"

"No," Monique said with a shake of her head. "But you know your cousin; Xavier will tell us what he wants us to know in his own time." She sighed, her lips pursing. "We must trust that he will find where Christine is staying. We must trust his judgement. He has never let us down in all these years."

"No, he has not," Didier agreed, his eyes straying to the mantle clock. "If you will permit me thirty minutes, I shall meet you downstairs and accompany you to Chagny."

"I should like that," Monique told him. "I shall see you in thirty minutes time and then we shall go to Chagny – you to comfort Henri and I to comfort Philippe."

Monique left Didier to his own devices and walked down the staircase, crossing the entry foyer and moving into her small sitting room. She wove her way through the furniture that appeared to be carelessly scatter about but had – in actuality – been placed in precise groupings for intimate conversation or quiet contemplation. Monique took a seat behind her writing desk, the desk that she had brought to Cote de Vallee upon her marriage. She opened the center drawer and reached a hand inside, feeling for a familiar oddity. A satisfied smile crossed her lips as fingertips felt the small lever, pushing it lightly toward the back of the desk, opening a secret compartment. Monique sighed as she reached in for a bundle of letters wrapped in a fading blue ribbon. Her fingers traced the elegant writing on the top envelope, her look growing wistful.

"I do not even know why I keep these," she said softly and shook her head. "That is a lie for I know precisely why I keep them." Monique sighed and turned her head so that she could look out the front window, across the valley toward Chagny. "Oh, Christine, you cannot outrun your past or your heart and you will never be able to forget." Monique turned her attention back to the parcel in her hand and raised it to her lips, placing a light kiss on the ribbon. "Philippe," she breathed and slipped the old letters back into the hidden compartment. Her hands gently slid the drawer shut and she rose, turning to the window, placing a hand on a pane. "If only …" Monique shook her head, knowing it was useless to dwell on the past, yet still unable to chase the possibilities from her mind. "How things could have been so different for all of us," Monique said to the bright day, the tears in her eyes turning the view of the valley into a blur of colors.

A blur of color was also all that Raoul could see as he slowly opened his eyes, wincing at the brightness of the room in which he found himself. He lowered his eyelids so that his eyes were nearly closed again, looking around, struggling to get his bearings.

"A room?" he wondered, his words nearly inaudible.

As his vision slowly began to clear and the light became less painful, Raoul opened his eyes a bit further and realized that he was on the floor of a room, his body stiff and aching. He could feel the pounding in his head as he raised it, looking down toward his toes. He saw his hands bound together at the wrists but could see no similar bindings at his ankles. Raoul gingerly put his head back down, lifting his hands so that he could see them, the sight of still raw nail beds and skin speckled with tiny knife pricks bringing unwanted memories to the forefront of his thoughts and tears to his eyes.

"Sit up," he said. "I have to sit up."

Raoul tried rolling to his side, nearly biting through his bottom lip at the pain in his chest. He knew from previous riding accidents that his ribs were cracked and that the pounding in his head surely meant a concussion; he struggled in vain not to remember the untended cuts that burned fire across his abdomen and along his arms. "Oh God," he prayed, struggling to breathe through the pain. "I can do this. I can do this."

Bound hands reached out for the object in front of them, grabbing at it, not caring what it was. Raoul's injured fingers curled weakly around something that felt solid and stable, pain dancing in the stars that flashed on closed eyelids. He slowly counted to ten, trying to gather what little strength he had, trying to summon courage. Raoul's tongue slipped out, trying to moisten dry lips. "Right," he breathed, as fingers tightened a bit more and Raoul pulled himself to a sitting position, a sound between a moan and a scream escaping from between clenched teeth. Raoul's head fell forward against something soft, as he lost the battle he had been fighting against his despair and the tears flowed freely down his cheeks. "What did I do?" he sobbed to the empty room. "What did I do?"

"_You did nothing, my love,"_ a soft voice whispered as gentle hands touched knotted shoulder muscles.

Raoul turned to look at the angel who was lowering herself to sit next to him, the look of love and compassion on her face taking his breath away. "Why are they doing to this to me? Why?"

The angel shook her head, a hand reaching in to brush away the tears. _"I do not have an answer for you."_

"Then why are you here?" Raoul wondered bitterly, turning his face from the angel. "I want to go home. I want the pain to stop. I want the beatings and the cuttings and the burnings to stop. I want to see my brother." His eyes closed in pain. "I want to see my wife," he finished on a whisper.

"_I am here to make sure that you get home to those you love,"_ the angel told him, touching his face so that Raoul turned back to look at her. _"If you will just trust in me, I will see that you get home."_

A dark pall descended over Raoul's heart. "I do not think I shall ever see home again."

Worry crossed the angel's face. _"You must not think like that!"_ she told him. _"You must hold to faith."_ She raised one of Raoul's hands to her heart. _"When you cannot find your own belief, you must hold to mine."_ The angel raised her eyes toward Heaven. _"You must hold to that which has gotten us this far."_ She lowered her eyes again, smiling gently at Raoul. _"You must hold to our love for each other for that is the gift from God that has always brought us forth from the darkness. You must believe it shall do so now. You must!"_ The angel reached gentle hands to cup Raoul's face, kissing each eye in turn, resting her forehead against his. _"What shall become of our child if you do not?"_

"Help me," Raoul pleaded. "Please help me."

"Oh look," another voice entered the conversation. "He is asking for our help."

Raoul and the angel both looked up at the sound, the angel angry, Raoul frightened.

"He even managed to get himself into an upright position," Francois addressed Louis, a decidedly nasty smirk on his face.

"_Stay away from him!"_ the angel warned as she rose to her feet, placing herself between Raoul and the tormentors entering the room.

Nico followed Louis and Francois into the room, still, unblinking, his gaze focused solely on Raoul.

Louis held up a hand causing Nico and Francois to stop where they were. He moved to stand before Raoul, looking calmly down at him. "When did you wake up?"

"_It is all right,"_ the angel told Raoul as she moved behind him, wrapping her arms about his shoulders, placing her cheek against his. _"You can tell them._"

Raoul raised his head to look at Louis, a slight moan escaping his lips from the pain in his head that the movement caused. "Just now," he said as he lowered his head.

"And do you find these accommodations much more to your liking than that barn stall?" Louis wondered, a smirk curling his lips. "Or that nasty iron box?"

"_Say yes,"_ the angel told him.

"Yes."

Louis turned to look over his shoulder at his two compatriots. "Now watch how simple words can cause more pain than any physical torture could ever hope to cause," he said softly – his words meant only for them - before turning back to Raoul and squatting down in front of him.

"I am glad you like your new surroundings," Louis began. "Would you like to stay here?"

"Yes," Raoul whispered without raising his lowered eyes.

"I think that could be arranged," Louis said, turning one last time to look at Francois and Nico, winking at them; he turned his attention back to Raoul. "It is not exactly the fine accommodations to which you are accustomed …"

"_Tell them it will be fine,"_ the angel urged.

"It will be fine," Raoul repeated her words.

"Good," Louis nodded and sighed. "Would you like to hear about your wife?"

"What?" Raoul said as he finally raised his eyes to look at the man before him.

"I bring news about your wife from …" a puzzled look briefly crossed his face. "Oh where is it that your brother lives?" The puzzled look was quickly replaced by a falsely innocent, thoroughly unpleasant smile. "That's right – some huge chateau called Chagny." Louis was finding great pleasure in the emotions that were playing over his hostage's face.

"_Do not listen to him,"_ the angel warned. _"Please – I beg you! – do not listen to him!"_

Louis reached out a hand to straighten Raoul's shirt, patting his chest. "It seems your lovely wife has fled Chagny and returned to Paris." He took his hand back. "Not only that but she has now disappeared from Paris. It is said your staff thought she was returning to Chagny. Now there are others who have said she has been seen in the vicinity of the old opera house. They say she has fled right back into the arms of her phantom lover and that he has claimed your wife and your child as his own." Louis rose to his feet, enjoying the fact that Raoul's eyes never left his face. "Enjoy your new room." Louis turned on his heel, motioning for Nico and Francois to follow him out the door, where they stood in silence.

Raoul sit quietly for a moment, Louis' words ringing in his ears. His eyes scanned the room, searching for – and unable to find – his angel. His eyes closed as his heart broke into a million pieces. "No," Raoul said with a shake of his head. "No," he repeated, struggling with the images Louis' words conjured in his mind. "No!" he screamed as he collapsed against the bed he sat next to, sliding to floor, his hands going over his face. "No, no, no," the muffled cries came, just audible to those who waited beyond the threshold.

Outside the door, Louis turned in triumph to his two companions. "That, gentlemen, is pain," he said and moved away down the stairs to the first floor, Francois on his heels.

Nico stood for a moment, staring into the room through the slightly opened door. "You have not even begun to see pain," he whispered as he shut the door. "Any of you," came the snarled whisper. "I am going to rain down pain such as Satan himself never dreamt!"

While Nico made plans to challenge Satan's supremacy, Satan was busy haunting the dreams of another. Or at least Henri thought Satan was haunting his dreams.

"It is payment for all my sins," Henri muttered as he sat on the steps of the back portico, head in his hands, fingers tangled in his hair.

"So you have said," Didier muttered back. "Several times, in fact."

Henri quickly rose to his feet, whirling to look at Didier who sat in one of the many chairs that lined the portico. "If you are so tired of listening to me, why do you just not leave? I did not ask you here!"

"No, you did not ask me here." Didier, too, rose to his feet. "You did not because you would not. You would not ask for my help or counsel if you were on your deathbed and Lucifer, himself, was tallying up all your sins." An angry frown crossed his handsome face. "You are just like every other damn Chagny my family has had the misfortune to cross!" Didier threw up his hands. "God! You should have been the one taken and murdered!"

Henri stared at his friend – the silence between them heavy with emotion. "Do you not think I know that?" Henri finally screamed at the top of his lungs. "Do you not think I look at each and every one of the faces about me and know that they wish it was me lying dead in that crypt and not Raoul? Do you not think I know what I am? What I am not?" Henri grimaced. "I know that I am not the clean-hearted boy my cousin was! I know that I am not noble or courageous or selfless! I know that I am drunken, obnoxious womanizer! I know that all of you think I am an ignorant lout who does nothing but bring disgrace to my family's name!" Henri's face was red with emotion. "And it should be me lying in the crypt! It should! The world would be a far better place without me! This family would be far better without me!" Henri turned his back to Didier and stumbled down the stairs to the pathway that led to the formal gardens.

"Henri," Didier said as he jumped up, moving quickly after his friend, "please – wait!"

Henri ran down the pathway, finally falling over his feet, to his knees, his head going to his hands. He tried to shake off the hands he felt upon his shaking shoulders; they only tightened their gentle hold.

"I did not mean it," Didier said softly. "I am sorry. I did not mean my words. I spoke out of worry and fear for you and out of turn. I am sorry!"

Henri raised his head but focused on the empty hands before his eyes. "But you spoke the truth," he began softly. "It should have been me." He sighed, shuddering as he bit back his emotions. "I wish it had been me."

"I do not," Didier replied.

"No one ever asked me what I thought or how I felt," Henri continued. "I know that everyone was worried over Philippe and Christine but Raoul was my cousin." His eyes closed, tears slipping from beneath the closed lids. "He was my playmate when we were young. We would chase each other all over the countryside and battle fantastic creatures. He was the one who helped me study so that I would not fail out of school." Henri laughed - a cold, lonely sound. "He never let me fail. He always thought I could do better … be better. And what did I do with that friendship, that belief?" Henri shook his head. "Oh God, Didier, I took it and I twisted it and I betrayed everything that had ever been between us." Henri finally opened his eyes and looked over his shoulder at the man standing behind him. "And now I will never get the chance to make it up to him."

Didier's heart was breaking for his friend. He moved around and knelt before Henri. "But you can make it up to him. You can take that belief that Raoul had in you and you can trust in it, know that it is truth. You can stop drinking and stop playing quite so hard." He managed a crooked smile. "But you cannot stop playing altogether for then who would I have to keep me company?"

In all his sorrow, Henri could not find a smile to give Didier in return. "I do not know how," he said pitifully. "Can you show me how?"

"That is what friends are for," Didier replied, laying a gentle hand on Henri's arm.

Henri swallowed and nodded. "Perhaps … perhaps …" he stuttered, "perhaps that is what the cross is trying to tell me. Perhaps it is Raoul telling me that there is a second chance for me. Perhaps it is not an awful symbol of God's punishment." He looked hopefully at Didier. "Do you think that is possible?"

"Anything is possible," Didier answered, knowing not to say another word, knowing that his friend ran on emotion and that Henri was as likely to obsessively cling to this new idea as he was to cling to the newest barmaid.

"Anything is possible," Henri repeated quietly and rose to his feet, brushing off his knees, watching as Didier did the same. "Anything is possible," Henri said again, his voice growing stronger. He clapped a friendly hand on Didier's shoulder. "Anything is possible!"

"And if you do not stop repeating that, I shall show you just what is possible!" Didier playfully warned

Henri laughed heartily. "Anything is possible!" he reminded Didier. "What would you say to a walk down to the stables and then a ride across the countryside?"

"I would say if it is just a ride, then I am all for it."

Henri grew sober "Just a ride and a walk," he promised, "just a ride and a walk."

Monique, too, was walking across Chagny property, crossing the green swells of valley that lay between the great house and the chapel. She paused before the chapel, crossing herself, offering up a silent prayer for all those that she loved, before turning toward the family cemetery that lay behind the chapel.

Her feet moved easily over the well-tended pathways, past ancient tombstones, crooked and worn by weather. She moved past small mausoleums housing entire generations of Chagnys who had helped to make the valley what it was on that day. Monique kept her eyes fixed on the small copse of trees at the very back edge of the cemetery, knowing that the old and the young who had gone before watched her with a cautious eye, urging her on, wishing her well, praying for her.

Monique paused as she drew within sight of the small stone crypt protectively hugged by the surrounding trees, a sad sigh escaping her lips at the sight of the man sitting on the newly installed stone bench, his gaze fixed on the crypt.

"Oh, Philippe," she breathed, the tears coming to her eyes.


	42. Chapter 42

**Chapter Summary:** Philippe and Monique. Henri and Didier. Questions without answers; guilt; memories and lost chances – past, present and future. And two flashes of insight – one too brief and too small to hold onto but still there; the other able to be held but its knowledge can break a newly found, still fragile, resolve.

CHAPTER FORTY TWO

_"You have got to see it, Philippe!" Raoul insisted, as he ran down the path to grab his older brother by the hand, pulling him forward._

_"And what it is that has so piqued your interest, Raoul?" Philippe wondered, a smile crossing his face as he looked down at the bouncing six-year old._

_Raoul rolled his eyes. "I cannot tell you!" he insisted. "You have got to see it!" Raoul tugged at Philippe's hand. "Come along!"_

_"As you will, my little man," Philippe laughed, slightly lengthening his normal stride to match the running pace set by the child's shorter legs._

_Raoul dragged his brother into the woods, the summer sun high over head casting dancing shadows through the leafy canopy. Raoul suddenly stopped, causing Philippe to bump into him but the little boy paid no heed. "Is it not the most magical thing you have ever seen?" he breathed._

_Philippe stared at a stone bench set beneath a semi-circle of birch trees. The bench was carved with strange symbols and appeared very old. Small, yellow buttercups and wild daisies dotted the grass around the bench like fine stitches in a carefully knotted carpet. Philippe looked down at his brother who was staring in awe, a small hand pointing at a ring of mushrooms surrounding the bench._

_"A fairy circle," Raoul said, raising his face to his brother. "And birch trees! You heard what Madame Monique said about birch trees - that they hide the fairies who come out to dance when the moon is full."_

_Philippe struggled to keep a straight face. "I did hear," he replied solemnly._

_Raoul turned back to look at the bench. "This shall be my very special spot. I shall come here every day and every night and wait for the fairies."_

_"And what of your studies?" Philippe wondered. "And when shall you sleep?"_

_"I do not care," Raoul insisted, his little lips forming a pout. "I am going to come here until I catch a fairy and then I am going to marry her."_

_Philippe grabbed his little brother about the waist, lifting him high and turning him upside down. "Obviously the fairies have already shaken the very brains from your head!" he laughed as the child in his arms giggled and squirmed …_

"You married your fairy," Philippe said as the memories came rushing back, "but she has slipped away again." His hands ran over the familiar bench upon which he sat, his eyes never leaving the stone crypt at which they stared. "And now I have returned your magical bench to you." His eyes closed as Philippe struggled to hold to the memory, the feeling. "Perhaps it will help to guide the fairy home." A familiar scent wafted by on a stray breeze. "I know you are there, Monique," he said softly.

Monique slowly approached the bench where Philippe sat, standing beside it. "Jasmine?" she wondered.

Philippe nodded his head, moving over so that Monique could sit next to him. "I also thought I heard footsteps on the pathway but I did not wish to look because I knew it would not be … I knew …" Philippe could not finish his thought.

Monique sat down, reaching out for Philippe's hand, a long-forgotten feeling rushing through her veins as his fingers intertwined with hers. "I knew you would be here when I did not find you at the house." She looked at the bench. "Raoul's fairy seat."

"You remembered," Philippe said as he turned to look at her briefly, his eyes straying back to the crypt.

"How could I forget? He spent so many years always going to that same spot in the woods, always insisting that he was going to catch a fairy." A sad smile crossed Monique's face. "I remember that first summer you came back from Perros and Raoul said he finally found his fairy. And I remember the summer he came back after Christine told him they could never see each other again. That was the year he stopped going to the bench and started to ride along the …" her voice trailed away. "Oh, Philippe; I am so sorry. I did not mean to … I did not …"

Philippe's free hand strayed to touch Monique's arm. "It is all right," he said as he turned to look at her. "We can not avoid the subject forever." Philippe's chin trembled. "Raoul is dead and nothing is ever going to change that. If I cannot speak of him, then I am afraid I shall lose the memories forever." His gaze wandered back to the crypt. "I am afraid that is all I shall ever have now – are the memories."

"Xavier will find Christine," Monique insisted. "I am sure of it. You must be, as well."

"I wish I could be," Philippe replied, "but I am no longer sure of anything in my life."

They sat in silence for awhile, Philippe's eyes never leaving the crypt, Monique's eyes never leaving Philippe's face.

"Do you come here often?" Monique finally asked.

"Every day."

"Why?"

"Why, why why," Philippe breathed, his voice growing softer with each word.

"You do not have to tell me if you do not wish."

Philippe turned to the woman sitting next to him, giving her a sad little smile. "I want to tell you. I need to tell you. I need to tell someone."

"I am here," Monique assured him, lifting the hand she held into her lap and placing her free hand over it. "And I am listening."

Philippe turned his gaze from Monique, looking off into the distance, past the graveyard littered with the bones of his ancestors, over the valley that they had helped to form. "I come here looking for answers," he began. "I come here trying to understand what went wrong. I gave those … them … everything they wanted and all they had to do was return Raoul." A puzzled look crossed his face as he turned back to Monique. "Why could they not do that? I would never have sent the constabulary after them. I would have let them take the money and go; all I wanted was my brother back." He returned to looking at the crypt. "I do not understand where everything went so wrong! I tried to make sure that Raoul had everything I could never have. He had a life of his own choosing. He had the woman he loved. He had his whole life before him and I find I cannot understand why it was all torn away." Philippe's brow creased in pain. "Did I indulge him too much? Did I interfere too much? Was placing all the hopes and dreams of our family – my hopes and dreams – on his shoulders too much?" Philippe hung his head. "Now there will be a child somewhere in this world that will look like him or laugh like him and I will never know it. There is a small piece of happiness – a piece of my brother - that still exists in this nightmare into which we have all been tossed and even that has been taken away." Philippe raised his head and turned to Monique. "Am I that horrible of a person – are we that horrible of a family – that Christine would fear us so much? That she could even think I would allow anyone to take her child from her? Does she not know I would lay down my life for her – for my brother's baby? And – why when it is my brother who was murdered – do I feel like I am being punished?" Philippe shook his head. "That is the worst feeling of all – that all of this happened because of something I did. That Raoul is dead and Christine is running in fear," Philippe moved his eyes to – once again – gaze out over the cemetery, "that everything all of those people built is falling apart because of something that I did or did not do. What kind of a selfish bastard does that make me?"

"I do not find you selfish, at all," Monique said softly as studied the man before her, trembling lips smiling slightly in compassion. "Why have you not said anything over these last weeks? Why could you not turn to Xavier … or to me? Why could you not have confided in us?"

"Because this is not your problem," Philippe told her. "This is not a problem with which any can help." His eyes turned back to the crypt. "I know I will never find answers until God calls me home."

"Philippe!" Monique's voice held a tone of alarm.

"Do not fret yourself; I am not about to do anything foolish. I may have been a coward in my younger days but I am no longer such a pathetic thing." Philippe sighed. "That is something that Raoul taught me." He turned back to look at Monique. "He taught me to stand up for myself, to believe in myself, to trust in myself." His voice lowered considerably, his eyes averting. "It is too bad that I learned the lessons far too late in my life."

Monique could feel the breath catch in her throat at Philippe's words. "I do not think you were ever a coward."

"Ah," he replied softly, "but, then, you did not see the frightened, unsure young man trapped behind stone walls with an unyielding martinet for a father."

"Is that why you never fell in love?" Monique took her heart into her hands. "Is that why you never married?"

Philippe raised his eyes to look at the woman beside him, glad she could not see what remained of his already broken heart disintegrating into dust that was blown away by currents from the past. "I did love once," he said gently. "I loved her more than you could ever imagine but I did not have my brother's courage. I could not stand up to my father the way Raoul stood up to me. I did not fight for the woman I loved the way that Raoul fought for Christine. Raoul did not take 'no' for an answer," Philippe shook his head, "I did."

Monique was glad that she had learned how to curb her emotions over the years; she could not have borne for Philippe to see the ice in her heart and soul melting, turning into a flooded river of useless, remorseful tears. "She must have been an incredible woman for you to love her that much," she replied, violet eyes never leaving the deep blue pools of sorrow into which they stared, "for her memory to still move you so."

"She was," Philippe said and thought, _"She still is."_

"Why did you not marry her?" Monique wondered aloud, aware of the polite game she and Philippe played but still needing to know the answer so that she could try to begin to find a peace that had eluded her all her married life.

There was no sense in avoiding the answer now. "Because my father forbade it," Philippe replied simply. "When he said 'no', I listened and obeyed." A crooked smile curled his lips. "I never had the internal fortitude, the strength of character that Raoul seemed to so easily possess."

Monique needed to know the rest of the answer to her question, to ease the doubts that had always plagued her. "Why did he say no?"

How could anything hurt more than it already did? "It was not her character or her family," Philippe told her, his voice echoing the feelings of the past. "They were perfectly acceptable." He saw the relief pass over her troubled eyes and knew his next words would chase that relief away. "It was the money." Philippe raised his eyes to the heavens, shaking his head. "I allowed my father to dictate the will of my heart for a lack of money. I was young and foolish and the largest coward in France."

Monique had lowered her eyes at his words, unwilling for Philippe to see the shocked amazement in them. They had lost everything – their possibilities, their futures – and all for the love of money. A tiny flicker of memory sparked at her thoughts, a pale scrap of an old conversation, words spoken in the darkness, a flicker that quickly flared and just as quickly burned out, leaving only the troubled stirrings of a mind in its wake.

"Just tell me that you have been happy," Philippe was urging her.

"I have," Monique said as she opened her eyes, allowing a smile to grace her lips. "I have. Xavier has been a good husband. He has been patient and indulgent. I have never wanted for anything."

"Yet there was never a child." Philippe shook his head. "I am sorry for that. I think you and Xavier would have been wonderful parents."

"It was not meant to be," Monique lied, knowing that she could never tell Philippe the truth, knowing that the truth would destroy his friendship with her husband. Monique would not be the one to take that last bit of happiness from him – from her self. "But we have Didier and he is a delight!" She laughed at the thought of her young red-headed, roguish cousin. "He is smart and good-natured, a bit of a scoundrel," Monique shrugged good-naturedly. "He is the son I wish I could have had."

"I like to hear you laugh," Philippe said as he took his hands back, turning to look at his brother's crypt. "I fear there will be far too little laughter at Chagny into the future," he said quietly, his shoulders rounding downward as the weight of past generations gathered upon them. "Oh, how I wish to once again hear a child's laughter in those silent halls."

Monique could no longer resist and she laid her head against Philippe's shoulder, joyfully amazed when the muscles beneath did not tense or pull away. "You are grieving. Christine is grieving," she whispered. "She is very young to have had so many terrible things happen to her in such a short time and I am sure that she is not thinking clearly through her grief." She sighed. "I know that I would not be were I to have the man I love torn from my arms." She finally felt the muscles beneath her head tense but Monique did not raise her head or draw back. "You must give her time, allow her to move past her sorrow and begin to think clearly again. Beneath that fragile exterior, Christine is a strong woman and I know she will realize that what she is doing is wrong. I know that she will come to realize that Raoul would want his wife and his child to be with the family – the brother – that he loved." Monique rubbed her cheek against Philippe's shirt. "I know that she will come back to you. I just know that she will."

Philippe closed his eyes, offering up a prayer. "I pray that you are right," he told Monique. "And I shall hold to that." He straightened and turned, forcing Monique to straighten and pull away from him. "I need something to which I can hold. The friendship that you offer, that you and Xavier have shared with me over these years, the force behind your belief, these are things that I know I can trust and to which I can safely and securely hold." He leaned forward to kiss her cheek, allowing his lips to linger a second longer than was acceptable. "Thank you," Philippe breathed before standing, turning and walking the few steps to his brother's crypt. "I will see you tomorrow," he whispered, his hand resting briefly on the cold iron door. "Rest well till then." He turned back to see that Monique had also risen, her hands extended to him.

"Come," she said to him. "Didier and Henri are off someplace together and we had best return to rescue them from each other and themselves."

Philippe walked to Monique's side, easily slipping her arm through his. "I think you are correct," Philippe said and sighed, a slight, crooked grin transforming his face. "At least those two are a distraction ..."

… "_It will be a fun distraction, Raoul," Henri insisted._

_Raoul eyed the deep, dark waters of the pond with just a trace of apprehension. "I do not know," he said as he shook his head. "It is awfully deep and there are … things … in there."_

_Henri laughed and threw a comradely arm about his cousin's shoulders. "We have spent years fishing for those things!" He tightened his grip on Raoul's shoulders causing the other boy to turn toward him; Henri wiggled his eyebrows. "And what kind of sailor is it who does not like to go for a swim in infested waters?" he wondered. "What do you think lives in the oceans? Half-naked mermaids?" Henri asked and pushed Raoul away from him, running for the pond, tossing his clothes off along the way._

_Raoul laughed and began to run after his cousin, his clothes falling in little piles behind him. "Wait for me!" he called, his long, lanky, fourteen-year old legs easily covering the uneven ground to the pond._

"_Catch me if you can!" Henri called over his shoulder, as his shoes went flying left and right and he dove gracefully into the summer-warmed water, surfacing almost immediately, strong strokes beginning to pull him from shore._

"_Henri," Raoul shouted, a bit miffed, "I mean it! Just wait a minute."_

"_Why?" Henri wondered as he stopped swimming and began to tread water._

_Raoul was looking down as his hands began to double the chain about his neck. "Because I want to make sure this is secure." He looked up again. "It belonged to my mother and if anything were to happen to it, I would die from mortification." He grinned. "And Philippe would kill me."_

_The gold cross about Raoul's neck flashed in the sun as he dove into the water …_

"Water?" Didier repeated.

"What?" Henri said as he turned to the man on horseback next to him.

"I want to know what is so damn interesting about the water," Didier repeated himself. "You were so lost in thought that this is the third time I am repeating myself."

Henri sighed and adjusted himself in the saddle. "That pond," he said as he nodded toward it, "was a favorite swimming hole when Raoul and I were about fourteen or fifteen. Many was the summer day when we would ride out here and just dive in, spending hours being carefree, silly boys." Henri turned to look back at the water.

"I did not know," Didier said softly, his hand reaching out to rest comfortingly on his friend's knee as his gaze followed Henri's. "It looks like it would be a perfect swimming hole."

"It was," Henri replied softly, watching the sun dance and flash across the water. He closed his eyes, the memories of happier days, more carefree times, pushing their way to the fore. "It was," he whispered, as he watched the images play on his closed eyelids. He watched as wet, glistening bodies flashed in the sun, splashing each other, kicking the water high, droplets flashing in the sun. Henri remembered the long chain that Raoul would always double over before diving into the water. He remembered the flashing gold cross of which Raoul was always so careful. He remembered …

Henri's eyes flashed open, a look of horror crossing his face. "It cannot be …" he breathed, his eyes glazing over, his focus turning inward.

"What?" Didier worried. "What cannot be?"

"No, no, no," Henri muttered, his head beginning to shake. "No, it is not possible."

Didier nudged his horse, dancing it sideways, closer to Henri's who was becoming skittish as it sensed the change of temperament in its rider. "Henri, what are you talking about?"

Henri still stared at the pond, still lost in what was dancing across his mind's eye. "I have spent too many years being a drunk," he muttered. "I have spent too many years being a fool." A trembling hand lifted from the rein it gently held to run through his hair. "I am seeing things. I am imagining things. I am remembering things that did not even happen." He finally turned toward Didier. "You have heard the stories about the drunken sots on the streets of Paris, right? You have heard that they see things and remember things that are not real." Henri paused for a moment, his face scrunching up in fear, his tongue nervously licking his lips. "Right?"

Didier's worry was rapidly being replaced by confusion. "So they say."

"That's good," Henri replied, his voice trembling. "That is a very good thing. Because I would be able to deal with the aftermath of a very long drunk but I do not think I could stand … I do not want to believe … I do not wish to think I am losing my mind." A lone hand reached out to touch Didier's copper hair, running gently down it. "You are a good friend." Henri's panicked voice lowered to a whisper. "Such a very good friend."

"You are making absolutely no sense, Henri!" Didier blurted out as he reached out to fling Henri's hand away from his head. "If you do not tell me what is wrong, I am going to … to …"

"What?" Henri wondered as he stuck out his chin, a bit of false bravery rising in his chest. "Push me from my mount? Throw me in the water? Sell me out to the nearest band of thugs?"

Didier's pleasant countenance grew dark. "Turn you over to Philippe and have done with you, sir!"

The two young men stared at each other for a long moment, their horses snorting, beginning to paw the ground in agitation at the charged atmosphere surrounding them. It was Henri who finally broke the silence as a loud choking sound escaped from his throat and he leaned forward burying his face in his horse's neck.

"What is happening to me?" he screamed, the sound barely muffled by the animal's mane.

Didier took pity on his friend and laid a hand on Henri's shoulder, surprised when Henri did not try to shake him off. "I do not know but if you will tell me, I can try to help."

Henri's entire body began to shake. "I cannot tell you," he cried. "I cannot tell anyone!" He turned his head to look at Didier. "I cannot tell because I do not even know. I think I may be seeing things, creating things that I wish to be true. I know that I need a drink."

"That," Didier's voice grew stern again, "is the last thing you need." He nodded his head toward the pond. "I think a dip in the water is what is called for – it will cool that damn fire in your head." Didier slipped easily from his saddle.

Henri remained bent over his horse's neck. "And you think I am just going to do as you say?"

"If you do not," Didier warned, "I am going to lift you bodily from your mount and carry you to the edge of the water and dump you – very unceremoniously – in!"

Henri, too, slid from his saddle and stood before Didier, his six foot, two inches staring down at Didier's five foot, ten inches. "And how do you intend to carry out such a task?"

"By sheer brute force, should the need arise."

Henri burst into laughter, much to Didier's consternation and confusion and clapped a hand on the shorter man's shoulder. "You are the best friend I have ever had," Henri managed and grew sober, "outside of my cousin."

Didier's eyes misted over. "That is the most complimentary and nicest thing I believe you have ever said to me. Thank you."

"You are welcome," Henri told him, taking back his hand. He winked at Didier and sprinted for the pond.

"Wait for me!" Didier called.

"Catch me if you can," Henri shouted over his shoulder. "Catch me if you can."


	43. Chapter 43

**Chapter Summary:** Christine continues to be haunted by her memories. Marie vows to her sister-in-law that she will do whatever it takes to protect Christine and her child. Erik returns to Christine stirring her simmering anger. And the police find themselves in receipt of a leather pouch containing several interesting items … one of which prompts a visit to Chagny.

CHAPTER FORTY THREE

_Christine leaned back against the headboard, her eyes closed, fingers entangled in silken strands, their tips lightly tracing circles on the scalp beneath them. A smile crossed her lips at the low hum that emanated from the man resting on her breast. "That was a contented sigh," she whispered._

"_I do not think I have ever been so content." Raoul sighed again. "You make me content."_

_Christine laughed – a low, throaty sound. "I make you exhausted." She yelped in delighted surprise as familiar fingers crept their way up her thigh, sneaking into shadowed areas. "Raoul!"_

_Now it was Raoul's turn to laugh. "I did not think you still had that much energy left in you."_

"_Only for you," Christine breathed, smiling as her husband raised his head to look at her; she reached for the lips seeking hers. "Only for you," she whispered against them._

"_You may have the energy but I do not." Raoul put his head back on his favorite pillow, closing his eyes, loving the feel of the soft skin against his cheek. "God! You are perfect!"_

"_All of those other beautiful women who throw themselves at you," Christine shook her head, "and you chose me." She smiled at the worry on the face that turned to look up at her. "I am too thin. I have no breasts. I have been incredibly awkward - " Christine blushed, "at everything. I am nothing like all the other sophisticated, elegant women who have crossed your path."_

_Raoul raised himself on one elbow, his free hand reaching up to palm his wife's cheek. "From the moment I first saw you again, I have wanted no one else. I have seen no one else. The others are nothing – nothing! – when compared to you! They cannot even begin to mean to me what you do."_

"_What is that?" Christine wondered._

"_You are my eternity," Raoul whispered as his fingers began to trace the contours of his wife's face, running down her neck. "You are the song in my day, the glimmer in my darkness." His hand reached her shoulder. "You were my first love. You will be last love. My only love. I am so glad God brought us together again." His hand gently cupped her breast. "And they are perfect." Raoul leaned over and kissed each breast in turn, laying his head back on them._

_Christine smiled gently. "Tell me that when I am swollen out of proportion with a child."_

"_I shall love you even more, then," Raoul assured her and yawned. "I shall love you and think you perfect when we are old and gray and wrinkled like dried prunes."_

_Christine reached for her husband's hand and raised it to her lips, kissing each finger in turn. "My beautiful, gentle Raoul," she said softly, listening as Raoul's breathing evened out, sleep finally claiming him. Christine suppressed a shudder as she remembered other hands, roaming freely, demanding something she was not yet ready to give. "I am so glad it was you," Christine said into the darkened room. "It will only ever be you." She closed her eyes but kept hold of her husband's hand. "Happy anniversary," she said, her voice trailing off as sleep claimed her, as well…_

A lone hand caressed her gently rounded stomach as the tears fell from Christine's eyes. She lay on her bed, the room slowly coming into focus as the memory slipped back into the dark recesses of her mind. "I wonder what you would think of your perfect wife now?" Christine closed her eyes and rolled to her side as she imagined Raoul's hands moving over their growing child, the light glowing in his eyes. Her hands reached out and drew a pillow close and in it Christine could feel Raoul's head resting on her bare chest, his fingertips idly moving over her growing breasts. Christine buried her head in the pillow she hugged. "What have I done to us?" came the muffled words and Christine kept her face in the pillow as she cried out tears that once could not begin and now never seemed to stop.

Finally, as the tears slowed, Christine moved the pillow aside and climbed from the bed. She did as she had done nearly every morning since coming to the house by the sea - Christine walked to the window and opened it, looking toward the ocean, inhaling the clean scent of the sea breezes. She folded her arms on the windowsill and rested her chin upon them. Christine could not see the beach that was at the bottom of the cliff but in her mind's eye she could see another beach. She saw the children who ran along it, becoming the adults who walked the same path, hand-in-hand, dreaming and planning for the future that seemed to stretch out forever before them.

"You will forever be perfect," she said softly, hoping her words were carried to the ears of the one who watched down upon her. "You will never grow old. You will always be my smiling boy, my golden knight, my handsome lover." She closed her eyes and sniffled as the tears started again. "And you can never be hurt again. Not by those …" Christine shook her head, unable to find a word to describe the men who had forever changed her life. "And not by me." Her eyes opened and she raised them toward the sun. "I promise that is the father your child shall know. The beautiful, laughing man with the sparkling eyes and gentle touch. If I never do another thing correctly in this life, I promise that your child shall know you as if you carried her in your arms against your beating heart. I promise," she vowed as she stood, wiping at the tears and turning from the window to begin another long day alone with her memories and guilt.

The day went swiftly as Christine and Marie moved easily through the routine into which they had fallen. Marie insisted on cleaning and cooking. Christine insisted on helping. Marie nagged at Christine to slow down - the house was not going anywhere. Christine sighed, placing hands on her hips saying that neither was she. Marie reminded Christine of the doctor's orders to not overdo. Christine nodded in agreement and would sit for an hour or so, feeling guilty over not contributing, feeling guilty for endangering her child, feeling guilty over her husband's death. Marie would close the door to the room, walking away slowly, not wishing to hear the sobs wrenched from a tormented soul.

"First, she could not cry," Marie was telling her sister-in-law, "and now she cannot stop." She shook her head. "I am worried for her."

Bettina sat at the table in the sunny kitchen, having stopped by to deliver fresh lettuces and beans from her garden. "I would worry, as well, were she not finally grieving the loss of her husband," she replied. "Was she always like this? So emotional - I mean - when you knew her at the opera?"

Marie shrugged. "She was a bit flighty," she admitted and grinned. "But which of us was not? You cannot live with all those girls of so many different ages and not become a bit distracted. There is so much gossip and so many tales told behind raised hands, so many games played and alliances made."

"You did not become flighty."

"Ah, but then I was not orphaned at a young age." Marie thought for a moment. "I think if I was a child who barely remembered their mother and could only remember the father who told me fairy stories, I would be flighty, as well." She grew serious. "Not to mention that … that … that man took her beliefs and dreams and twisted them all out of proportion."

Bettina lowered her voice. "Is that the man who came two weeks ago?" She looked around the room and lowered her voice even more. "Was he that opera ghost?"

Marie nodded. "That is him. I tell you true, Tina; I do not like him here. He is demanding and dangerous; he nearly caused Madame to lose her baby! All I can think is that now that he knows the Vicomte is dead, he has come to claim what he lost before. If it had not been for the Vicomte and his willingness to indulge his wife, I may very well have been living on the streets of Paris doing God alone knows what! He allowed Madame … Christine to hire the maid of her choosing and she chose me. They gave me a good life and never treated me as if I was merely a servant. I will not allow that man anywhere near the Vicomte's child. I will not!"

"I do not think you have much of a choice," Bettina said. "It seems to me that Christine has already made up her mind since he is coming back here." She raised an eyebrow at Marie. "I would not cause waves if I were you."

"I am not going to cause waves," Marie pouted. "But that does not mean I will not keep watch. I swear, he does the least little thing out of line with his station and I shall have the constabulary on him faster than he can draw breath!"

Bettina chuckled as she rose to her feet. "Oh, our little Marie has developed the backbone of a man!"

"Tina," Marie warned as she, too, rose to her feet.

"Do not be such a chit," Bettina replied as she laid a friendly hand on Marie's arm. "I am just telling you that it seems there is something that must be worked out between your Christine and this man and you must let them do so. I do not think Christine will ever be able to find peace until she does. That does not mean you do not exercise caution; it just means you do not interfere until – and unless – the moment calls for it."

Marie smiled, some of the angry tension fading from her shoulders. "I promise," she said as she hugged her brother's wife. "And thank you for the fresh vegetables; they are greatly appreciated."

"And very good for a lady with child," Bettina reminded her. "I shall bring squash tomorrow and tomatoes when they are ready. Now," she said as she took Marie's arm, "walk me to the back lane. I must get home before the children return from school."

The two women crossed the kitchen and walked out the back door, down the garden path toward the lane that ran between the houses and the cliff's edge. They did not know that another had overheard their conversation.

Christine kept a hand over her mouth as she leaned back against the wall. She had been going to the kitchen in search of something to eat for she was always hungry these days. She had been about to push the partially closed door open the rest of the way when she heard voices. Not wishing to intrude, she had begun to turn away until she had heard Raoul's title used; it was that which had caused her hand to fly to her mouth and made her listen – silent and still – behind the door. She had heard all the words – Raoul's title, her name, the mention of the police, another name never spoken.

"Oh Raoul," Christine whispered as warring emotions raged through her veins and she struggled to sort them out. Her first thoughts and emotions were the ones that always claimed her attention. Christine lifted her eyes toward the ceiling. "Was there not a person who did not like you?" she asked. "Even now, they are so protective of your memory," Christine's chin trembled, her hands going over her stomach, "your child. But what have I done – what have I ever done – to deserve such regard? How I wish you could tell me!" Christine's eyes searched the ceiling for answers, her ears listening to the quiet of the rented home for a voice that would never come again. She began to straighten when the sound of the doorbell startled her.

Christine began to move swiftly down the hall, toward the front of the house. She paused for a moment as she felt a stitch in her side, a hand immediately reaching for it. "Slow down, silly girl," she told herself. "Slow down."

The doorbell rang again – impatient and demanding.

Christine let out a long breath between her teeth. "I am coming!" she shouted, a bit angry at the tone of the bell. Christine finally reached the front door, her hand pausing for a moment on the latch as she drew a deep breath and the stitch in her side faded away. She pulled the latch down, opening the door, the smile on her face fading. "Oh, it is you," she said to the man waiting on her front walk.

"You should not shout, it is not good for your vocal cords," Erik told her.

"This is my home," Christine told him, "and I shall do as I please."

Erik drew a deep breath, a stray thought passing his mind, wondering if coming back was the correct thing to do. "May I come in?" he wondered, willfully pushing the thought back into the dark recesses of his conscience from where it had escaped.

Christine stepped aside, allowing him to enter. "Could I stop you?"

"A mere word would suffice," Erik told her, his tone sharper than he intended. He did not recognize the woman before him and did not know how to react to her.

Christine fixed her former teacher with a blank stare. "When was a word ever enough to stop you?"

"I did not come to argue with you," Erik told her and moved back to the door. "This was a mistake."

Christine's lips curled in a smirk and she slammed the door shut in Erik's face. "Perhaps, I wish to argue."

Erik dropped the carpetbag he held and whirled on Christine. "What is wrong with you?"

Christine took a single step forward. "You have the utter gall to even ask that insipid question?"

"I see that your time as a Vicomtess has certainly improved your sadly lacking vocabulary," Erik replied.

"It was never my mind that you wanted!" Christine shot back.

Erik took a step forward. "I am sure that was what your precious Vicomte loved about you."

"You say another word against Raoul and I will kill you myself," Christine fixed Erik with a look that bespoke death. "I have recently learned many things about how to inflict pain. Or shall I remind you what those men did to my husband?"

The two people standing by the doorway stared at each other, chests heaving from emotional exertion. It was Erik who finally broke the silence.

"I truly did not come to fight, Madame," Erik told her. "I came to assure myself that you were well." His eyes could not help but go to the slight bulge beneath Christine's simple gown. Erik raised his eyes and smiled at her. "I see that you are and since you are, I believe it would be better for all concerned, if I were to leave."

Christine let out a long sigh. "No," she told him. "I do not wish you to go." She managed a slight smile at the look that crossed Erik's face. "I mean that honestly and truly. I think there is much that must be said between us."

"So I have been told," Erik muttered as his gaze fell to his feet.

"Pardon?" Christine could not hear what he said.

"It is nothing," Erik replied as – once again – he raised his eyes. "Are you sure you wish me to stay."

Christine nodded. "I am sure." She nodded at the staircase behind them. "You will find a room ready for you to the left at the top of the stairs." She put a hand to her mouth as she yawned. "And it would be wise were you to let Marie know that you are here for she is …"

"Very protective," Erik finished. "I became aware of such the last time I was here."

"I am going to go out to the garden and rest for awhile," Christine told him. "I shall see you at dinner."

"Thank you," Erik said.

Christine nodded and moved past, trusting that Erik would do as she asked - go to the room at the top of the stairs.

He did.

Erik climbed the stairs, turning left, seeing an open door; it was the same room as the last time he had been here, in this house by the sea. He entered the room and closed the door, dropping his carpetbag on the bed and moving to open the window. His gaze looked toward the horizon, the deep blue water sparkling in the bright sun of an August afternoon. Erik could hear voices drifting upwards and he looked down into the garden, seeing Christine speaking with Marie. Erik could see Marie's head shaking and he knew she was unhappy that he had returned. He could see Christine take the other young woman by the arms, their voices audible, their words unintelligible; yet he saw Marie nod and knew that she would do whatever Christine asked. Erik watched as Marie moved into the house, Christine taking a seat on a chaise lounge. He watched as she leaned back, her hands going over her stomach. "Oh, my angel," Erik breathed, "let us both find the peace we so desperately seek." He turned from the open window, his last sight that of her fingers caressing the wedding bands that sparkled in the sun.

Another man also looked at a ring, a ring that gleamed in the bright light of a quiet room. He turned it over and over in his hands, his eyes never leaving it, his expression completely unreadable. The other two men in the room with him waited while he pondered the object in his hands, one nervous and twitching, one quiet and studious. They both watched, waiting for some sign, some reaction. They searched for an acknowledgement that they had done right – one in bringing the object forth, the other in suspecting what it was.

"Tell me once again how you acquired this," Chief Inspector Robert Pichette told the man sitting across the interrogation table from him.

Clement Vachon, the proprietor of a roadside inn some little distance from Lyon pulled on the small scarf about his neck. He turned his head to look over his shoulder at the man standing behind him, the man who had insisted on dragging him to this unsavory place.

"Inspector Rousseau cannot be of assistance," Pichette said softly, his tone commanding attention, drawing Clement Vachon's gaze back to him. "You will, please, tell me again how you acquired this."

"I …" Vachon swallowed heavily. "I was cleaning the inn after a long day and was running the broom across the floor when I felt something under one of the corner tables. I could not see what it was so I got on my knees and dug it out."

"You found it in a small leather pouch," Pichette wondered, trying to keep the facts clear in his mind.

"Yes sir," Vachon answered. "It was in a small pouch that must have tumbled from the bench that is built into the wall."

"And was anything else in this pouch?"

"Some money." Vachon scratched his head. "A small packet of powder and a drawing that looked like a map or something."

Pichette sat silently for a moment. "And you have told no one else of this?"

"I was alone when I found the pouch," Vachon began. "I opened it alone in my inn." He nodded at the ring in Pichette's hand. "I hear the talk of those that pass through my inn. I know what they know. I knew you were searching for certain things, certain information and when I saw that and the writing, I thought it might be important."

"It is very important," Pichette assured him, briefly looking at Guy Rousseau, their eyes meeting, speaking more than mere words could ever hope to convey under such circumstances. "You said there were two men at the table where this pouch was found," Pichette turned his attention back to Vachon. "Can you describe them?"

"The one who sat in the shadows, I cannot," Vachon said as he shook his head. "I do not think I had ever seen him before."

"Anything about him stand out in your mind?"

Vachon reached up to rub at the top of his head, his brow furrowing in thought. "He was dressed real well. I do not often have that type of quality pass through my door. But I do not remember if he was old or young – nothing like that."

"That is too bad," Pichette muttered under his breath and more loudly. "The other man – what of him?"

"Him, I know," Vachon said, a self-satisfied smile on his lips. "His name is Louis Foucault."

"The name is familiar," Pichette said.

Vachon licked his lips. "And I heard that there might be a reward."

Pichette's hands closed about the ring he held. "There is a reward." He raised his eyes to Guy Rousseau. "Inspector Rousseau will show you to the man who will give you the money." Pichette raised a hand as Vachon slid his chair back and began to stand. "I will double the reward, if you will keep your mouth shut as to what you have found."

"You have a deal, sir," Vachon told the Chief Inspector and turned to Rousseau who was standing by the open door.

Chief Inspector Pichette watched as his primary aide led Clement Vachon from the interrogation room before returning his attention to the ring that he held. He stared at it, a simple gold signet ring, nothing special, nothing out of the ordinary – save for the engraving on the front and back. His attention was drawn from the ring at the sound of the interrogation room door closing.

"Was I correct in my thinking?" Guy Rousseau wondered as he crossed to stand beside the table, his eyes staring at that ring. "In the details I allowed to be passed on through the world of the criminal element?"

"More than correct," Pichette assured him.

Guy heaved a sigh of relief; his instincts had proven correct. "Now what?"

"Pack a bag," Pichette said as he raised his head. "We leave for Chagny tonight."


	44. Chapter 44

**Chapter Summary:** The police return a ring to Philippe and update him on their progress in solving his brother's "murder". Their visit brings evokes old memories and brings forth new emotions. The men holding Raoul finally succeed in breaking his will. Raoul does not hear his angel weep but Erik does hear his.

CHAPTER FORTY FOUR

_Raoul stood up, pushing his chair back angrily and strode to the door, his hand reaching for the knob._

"_If you walk out the door," Philippe warned, "you walk away from this family forever."_

_Raoul breathed heavily through his nose, his back still to the room, unable to see the worry on his brother's face as Philippe waited for an answer. "Why should I stay?" Raoul wondered softly. "You have already made your decision." He finally turned back to the room. "And I have made mine." He shook his head. "I am marrying Christine and there is nothing you can do to prevent it."_

"_I shall cut off your access to the bank accounts." Philippe raised an eyebrow at his younger brother. "I shall forbid access to Chagny, to the Paris home, to any of our properties."_

"_I can always find work. Was it not you who demanded that I spend some time at sea?" Raoul smirked. "I learned my lessons well and good sailors are always in demand. And I do not need a grand home with rooms into which I never set foot. All Christine and I will need is a room with a roof that does not leak."_

"_Ah, the foolish dreams of the young." Philippe wanted to rise to his feet but remained seated, steepled fingers at the level of his chest. "And do you fully expect to be received by any of your acquaintance or any member of this family if I forbid this marriage? Even our sisters – much as they harbor a soft spot for you – will never allow you to pass their thresholds."_

"_Understand me, Philippe," Raoul had dug his heels in and would not be swayed, "I am marrying Christine. I do not care if it costs me everything. I do not care if it costs me my family or my friends. I do not care if it costs me my station or my inheritance. She is my everything! She is my friend and she will be my family. Together we will build a family together that will be greater than any mere monetary inheritance."_

_Philippe finally rose to his feet. "You expect me to agree to this marriage? You expect me to just say 'yes' while you go off and marry a penniless, opera singer. A girl who danced on the stage. A girl whose actions were responsible for the destruction of an entire opera house?"_

"_Yes, Philippe, I do," Raoul told him, his eyes narrowing. "And my actions had just as much to do with what happened that night as hers."_

"_One reason, Raoul," Philippe told him, as he leaned his hands on his desk, praying for the words he longed to hear. "Just give me one good reason why I should give my consent to this marriage."_

"_Because she loves me." Raoul was quiet for a moment. "And because I love her."_

_A broad smile lit Philippe's face. "That is all I have wanted to hear for the last two hours." He laughed delightedly. "Of course, I give my consent. You have my consent and my blessings and all the assistance I can give!" Philippe was amazed when Raoul rushed across the room and grabbed him in a huge hug. "I cannot breathe, you young fool!" Philippe said as his hands opened and closed …_

Philippe's fingers closed about the object he held, his eyes closing in pain. "It is my brother's," he said softly, opening his eyes to once again stare at the ring in his now open hand. "It was the gift his wife gave him on their wedding day." A single finger traced the intertwined "R-C" on the face of the ring. "He vowed that day that he would never take it off." Philippe finally raised his eyes to the two men sitting across the desk from him. "I thought it lost when … Where did you … how did you …"

It was Chief Inspector Pichette who answered. "It was brought to our attention by a man who runs a rather rough-and-tumble inn on the road leading from Lyon to Grenoble. He found it stuck in a corner beneath a bench." He cleared his throat. "We had put word out on the street that should any items of a specific nature be found, there would be monetary recompense for such information. This inn owner had heard the rumors and he came forward upon seeing what was in the leather pouch he found."

"What else was in this pouch?" Arthur Weldon asked; he had been standing behind Philippe's chair in quiet support.

Pichette turned to Guy Rousseau who was seated beside him. "There was some small amount of money – not enough to signify. A packet of white powder and a map."

"What type of powder?" Arthur wondered aloud, Philippe's attention returned to the ring he held so gently.

"It is a powerful sleeping drug," Rousseau told him. "I was told by the chemist I awoke to analyze the powder, that it would only take a mere pinch to make someone ill. A slightly larger dose would disorient the recipient, making them unable to function. A normal dose will send a grown man to sleep for up to a day and giving more than that could lead to death. It is odorless and tasteless and any who consumed it would never know."

"Map," Philippe said. "What of the map?"

"It is just lines on a piece of paper," Pichette told them. "There are not specific landmarks that would lead us to discover what the map means."

Philippe raised his eyes. "Do you know who had the pouch containing these items?"

"We do," Pichette said. "We believe it is a man named Louis Foucault. He is a man of our acquaintance who holds a questionable reputation. He is known to often hire out his services to the highest bidder. This Foucault then recruits others with weaker minds to do the work for him." He drew a deep breath. "Do the names Edouard Durant or Francois Amerlaine mean anything to either of you."

Philippe looked over his shoulder at Arthur, who shook his head slightly. "No, they do not," Philippe replied as he returned his attention to the inspectors seated across from him. "Should they? Do you think these are the men who are responsible for what …" He knew he needed to say it. "For murdering my brother?"

"We do not yet know," Pichette had to admit, "but we would certainly like to question them."

"Then why have you not yet done so?" Philippe snapped and was immediately apologetic. "I am sorry."

"No need for apologies, Monsieur le Comte," Pichette assured him. "I have officers searching for these men day and night. I promise you, we will find them and we will get the answers you desire."

Philippe nodded and thought for a moment. "Would it help if I were to add my own funds to this search?"

Rousseau nodded. "It is always helpful and while it is somewhat distasteful, oftentimes it is the only thing that men such as these understand."

"Offer whatever sum it takes," Philippe told them. "I shall instruct my bankers in Lyon to give you anything you require."

"Thank you," Pichette replied softly, turning to nod slightly at his aide. "We should be going."

"Stay," Philippe said and nodded at Arthur who moved to the end of the bookcase, tugging on the narrow tapestry hanging there. "You have traveled through the night to bring me this news; I cannot allow you to leave without a chance to freshen up and have a hot meal."

A knock came at the study door and Mathilde entered. "You sent me for me?" she wondered.

A genuine smile crossed Philippe's face at the sight of her. "I did," he said. "Would you show these two men to the guest rooms so that they may freshen up."

"_Oui, Monsieur,"_ Mathilde replied.

"And then would you see to it that they have a hot meal and a chance to relax before they must be back on their way?"

"It shall be done as you ask," Mathilde smiled back, motioning for Pichette and Rousseau to follow her. "And I shall pack a hamper for your trip back," she told them.

Both men inclined their heads at Philippe.

"Thank you for your hospitality," Pichette said.

"You are welcome," Philippe told them and turned his attention back to the ring he held, listening as the door closed behind Mathilde and the men now in her care.

"What are you thinking?" Arthur wondered.

"I do not know what I am thinking," Philippe told him. "I do not know what I am supposed to be thinking." He rose to his feet, walking to the windows that overlooked the front drive, staring silently for a moment before turning back to the room. "No, that is wrong. I know exactly what I am thinking." Storm clouds descended upon Philippe's troubled countenance. "I am thinking that I want five minutes alone with these men. I want to do to them what they did to Raoul. I want to make them pay for their actions in ways they cannot even begin to imagine." His lips curled in an evil grin. "It is too bad we can no longer slowly burn people at the stake." Philippe's eyes narrowed. "Very, very slowly."

Arthur was a bit horrified. "Philippe!"

Philippe let out a long, shaky breath. "I do not mean that – not entirely. Part of me does mean it, Arthur and that is the part that frightens me. That is a part of me that I never knew existed until this happened. I never knew I was capable of wanting such revenge! I am not sure I like this part of myself."

"It is understandable given what has happened," Arthur reassured his friend. "I, too, am not a violent man but I would dearly love my own five minutes alone with those men." He shook his head. "Would you like me to compose a letter to your bankers that can be sent with the Inspectors back to Lyon?"

Philippe nodded. "I trust you to know what to say and I will sign it." He ran his free hand through his hair. "God, what I would not give for answers!" He looked at his closed fist, slowly opening it. "One love, one lifetime," he whispered to himself. "And what I would not give to have Christine here, to be able to place this into her hands."

Hands that she spread open as she knelt before him. _"I am here,"_ the angel breathed.

Raoul sat on the hard floor, unseeing, his back against the wall, his hands bound together and fastened by a chain to a ring in the wall.

The angel placed her hands on either side of his face, desperately trying to get his attention. _"Please!"_ she pleaded. _"Talk to me!"_

"Nothing left to say," Raoul whispered. "Nothing left …" his voice trailed off.

"_Do not do this!"_ the angel cried. _"Do not believe them! Do not give in to them! They are words! They are only words!" _Her pleadings were interrupted by the sound of a door opening; the angel looked over her shoulder to see Louis, Nico and Francois enter the room. She quickly turned back to Raoul. _"Do not listen to them, I beg of you!"_

Louis motioned for his two companions to wait and walked over to Raoul and right through the angel, causing her to disappear. He squatted down before Raoul, taking Raoul's chin in his hands. "And how are you today?"

Raoul just looked at him.

"I asked you a question," Louis said, reaching for an injured hand and pressing down upon a raw nail bed, knowing that Nico was smiling at the cry that emanated from their hostage. "Now, I am going to ask again and I expect an answer – how are you today?"

"Fine," Raoul breathed, able to focus only upon the throbbing pain in his hand.

Louis tsk'd at Raoul. "I find that hard to believe." He shook his head. "How can any man be fine when the woman he loves has fled right back into the arms of her first love? How can any man be fine when he knows that his child will forever be calling someone else "Papa"?" Louis let go of Raoul's chin. "I do not know how you do it. I simply do not know how you can be so calm when your wife is in another man's bed, his hands on her body, on your child, his name being screamed from her lips." Louis smiled at Raoul. "Perhaps they will do things so that your child will never be born. After all, why would they want the child of a dead man to clutter up their new lives? Why would your wife want your child when she can have the child of her lover?" Louis patted Raoul's cheek a bit harder than necessary. "Oh, that is correct! I know why you are so calm. It is because you told Edouard to tell your wife to go to her phantom lover." He laughed at the look of knowledge that crossed Raoul's face. "That's right – we knew about that. We knew about that before poor Edouard – well – lost his head in your place."

Nico took a step forward – he could not resist – and leaned over Louis' shoulder, catching Raoul's gaze. "What do you think I told your wife at your crypt? What do you think I was whispering to her while she squirmed so sweetly in my arms? Whose name did you think was already on those soft lips?"

Raoul looked at the men before him, their words ringing in his head, his breath coming short and uneven. "No," he muttered. "No."

"_Fight them, Raoul,"_ the angel urged. _"You know they are lies. Fight them!"_

Nico tapped Louis on the shoulder and the older man moved aside, Nico taking his place. "Oh, poor little boy," Nico said in that bizarre sing-song. "You know it is the truth. Why else would your faithless widow betray you with me at your own tomb?"

Raoul shook his head. "Lies."

Nico ran his hand down Raoul's head as if he were a beloved pet. "Shall I remind you that I know how her skin smells of lilies? How else would I know such a thing unless she had been in my arms?" Nico leaned forward so that he could whisper in Raoul's ear. "She purrs like a kitten," he breathed and drew back, waiting for a response.

Raoul stared at Nico and the three men before him could see the moment when it happened. They could see the moment when what was left of his resistance snapped. They could tell the exact second when he finally broke all ties with his past, leaving him open and vulnerable to any and all their games and desires. It only took a split-second, the blink of an eye and suddenly the last ember of life in Raoul's blue eyes winked out and there was nothing in them anymore. There was no fear, no defiance, no longing – no life; there was simply nothing. Raoul had finally been broken and now they could do with him as they pleased.

"How are you?" Nico wondered, his lips curling in a strange half-smile.

"However you wish me to be," Raoul replied in a monotone.

"If I free your hands, will you try to leave?"

"I have nowhere else to go."

Nico leaned back on his heels and sighed happily. "Such a good little boy," he said, turning to Francois, motioning for the other man to come forward. "Would you like us to take care of those nasty little cuts?" Nico asked as he turned his attention back to Raoul.

"If you wish," Raoul said.

"Oh, I wish," Nico assured him, "I wish very, very much." He watched as Louis moved to the ring in the wall, releasing the lock that held the chain there. Nico waited until Louis had released the bindings about Raoul's wrists and lifted the old shirt from his body before leaning forward once again. He pushed a single finger hard against the ribs showing through Raoul's skin, running it over them, enjoying the moans of pain that came from Raoul. "Too bad we cannot do anything for those ribs but," Nico's fingers reached out to trace the inflamed wounds across Raoul's abdomen and down his arms, "we can do something about these." He looked at Francois. "Put it down and hold him still."

Francois put down the small bucket of rags he carried and moved to Raoul, placing him in a chokehold.

"Grab his legs," Nico told Louis waiting until the older man had a firm grasp on Raoul's legs before turning his attention back to his victim. "Since you are being such a good little boy we are going to take care of those nasty cuts on your tummy and arms." Nico talked to Raoul as if he were a wayward child barely out of the nursery. "And we all know that taking one's medicine is not always pleasant." Nico reached into the bucket next to him and pulled out a long strip of white linen stained red and dripping with iodine. "This is going to hurt," he chuckled.

The screams that tore from Raoul's throat as the iodine soaked bandages were wrapped tightly about the infected knife wounds on his arms and stomach echoed throughout the isolated house, causing two grown men to turn their heads and another to chuckle gleefully.

In a corner of the room, an angel wept.

And in another room, another angel also wept. She sat in the darkened room, rocking in a chair, a sweater drawn tightly to her chest.

"I miss you so much," Christine said through her tears, her words punctuated by her uneven breathing. "I want you back. I want you back." She leaned her head against the back of the rocking chair, placing the sweater over the child she carried. Christine raised her hands to her lips and screamed into them until her throat was sore and she could scream no longer. "I love you. I love you," she kept repeating as the tears continued to fall.

Marie having grown used to the sound of midnight weeping from Christine's room placed a pillow over her head and rolled over, desperately trying to block out the sounds of distress. She had gone the first night to try and comfort her former mistress only to find that Christine wished no comfort and – in fact – wished to mourn alone and unheeded in the dark stillness. Now Marie knewthat the best thing to do was allow Christine her time of sorrow and be there in the morning with a hot cup of tea and a friendly smile, a warm embrace.

Erik, though, had never heard such sorrow from his beloved angel and he paced back and forth behind the closed door of his room. His first instinct upon waking in the darkness was to reach for the bottle of opiate solution always kept by his bed and used to chase away the nightmares he could not outrun. Yet there was something different in the cries he heard – something that was real and true and drawn from a depth of sorrow that he understood all too well. Erik lay in the strange bed, struggling to get his bearings, when he realized that he recognized the sound of the weeping.

"Christine," he breathed as he sat up abruptly in the bed, dizzy but rising to his feet, rushing to the door. As his hand closed around the door's latch, he paused. "Oh God," he said to himself. "What am I doing?" He knew he could not leave the room, could not do as he wished and run to Christine's side, drawing her into his arms, kissing away her tears, and soothing her pain. Erik drew back from the door and began to pace the room, his hands over his ears as he struggled to block out the muffled screams that reached his ears.

"Oh my angel," Erik said as he lowered his hands and could hear no more screaming. Yet the weeping he heard was in some ways worse than the screams.

Erik did not know how to deal with the tears of an angel.

He never had.


	45. Chapter 45

**Chapter Summary:** Erik faces the tempers of two women – Marie and Christine – and is startled when Christine makes an observation about his life. Tallis fears for her chances with Erik even as Antoinette offers her further insight into Erik's character. Louis and Francois discuss plans for their "guest" as an angel tries to get Raoul's attention. And just what is Nico doing in that barn …

CHAPTER FORTY FIVE

Erik watched Marie from the kitchen door. He leaned against the jamb, arms folded across his chest, face void of expression as he studied the young woman who bustled needlessly about the immaculate kitchen. "You do not like me very much, do you?" he wondered.

"I do not like you at all," Marie huffed, keeping her back to him.

"Might I ask why?" Erik knew the answer but needed to hear it anyway.

"Why?" Marie replied, her hands angrily pushing a damp cloth back and forth over a work surface. "If you have to ask that question, than you are truly blind or foolish or both."

"Marie," Erik said as he took one step into the kitchen, freezing in mid-stride as Marie whirled on him.

"If you take another step closer to me, I shall scream my head off!" she warned, throwing the cloth at him, watching as he expertly dodged the flying material. "I do not like you because of what you are! Do you have any idea what you did that night? Do you?"

Erik opened his mouth but did not have the opportunity to speak.

"You killed the hopes and dreams of so many good, decent, hard-working people!" Marie's voice was raised, her expression furious - she had been saving these words, these emotions and she would not be deterred. "And you killed people! Real people with real families who loved them! And why? Why! Because the woman you loved fell in love with someone else? What kind of a reason is that? What kind of love is that? Why could you not do like a real man would have done and accept that she loved someone else and let her go? A gentleman would have done so!"

"I have never claimed to be any such a thing," Erik told her, trying to keep the tone of his voice neutral.

"No," Marie agreed, her eyes narrowing, "and you are not one now! What kind of a man seeks out the widow of the man he tried to kill? What were you hoping to gain?" Marie took a step forward, powered by the angry energy flowing through her body. "You nearly cost a woman her child! The only child she will ever have from the man she married – the man you wanted dead," a nasty smile crossed Marie's lips, "the man she loved! Is that why you came? Is it?"

"What kind of monster do you think I am?" Erik could feel his anger growing. "Why would I want to harm Christine in such a way?"

"Then why are you here? Why did that … that … ballet mistress …"

Erik took two steps into the room, no longer willing to hide his own anger. "Have a caution, Mademoiselle," he warned. "I would advise you to speak gently of Madame Giry."

"Are you going to kill me?"

"If you continue to speak of the only person who has never wavered in their friendship toward me in such a manner, then yes!"

Some of Marie's anger deflated. "I liked and admired her," she admitted. "She was always stern to those of us with less than a modicum of talent but she did it with an underlying grace and compassion." Marie stared into Erik's eyes, refusing to back down. "Why did she send you here? What do you hope to gain?"

Erik's eyes strayed to the simple cross about Marie's neck. "You are a religious person?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Does your God not teach that everyone deserves to be forgiven?"

Marie looked at Erik thoughtfully. "Only if they are truly repentant."

"Do you not think even one such as I can change? That I can truly see where I have done wrong and wish to right it?"

"I do not think you did it all on your own," Marie humphed.

"Touché, Mademoiselle," Erik replied softly.

"And while God may forgive you," Marie continued, "you must also seek forgiveness from those whom you have wronged." She walked to stand before Erik, looking up at him. "I do not think you will find such a thing easily given from the Vicomte," she told him, wiping at her tears and storming from the room.

Erik stood silently, balling his hands into tight fists, breathing heavily through his nose as Marie left the room. He closed his eyes and began counting to ten when a voice interrupted his silent count.

"It seems I have a champion," Christine said.

Erik opened his eyes and looked across the kitchen to where Christine stood in the doorway from the garden. She was dressed in the ever present black gown that only highlighted the new bulge in her middle. Her hair was tied at the nape of her neck with a matching ribbon and her cheeks were warmed from the summer sun. In her arms she held a basket full of different, brightly colored lilies; it was a startling splash against the drab colors demanded by mourning. Erik watched as she walked into the kitchen, placing the basket on the huge table that separated her from him. Christine turned and retrieved a vase from a cupboard, filling it with water from a nearby ewer before returning to sit at the table, hands sorting through the flowers.

"Are you going to stand all day?" Christine asked, her eyes never leaving the flowers. "Or do you wish to sit and talk?"

"I should like to sit," Erik said as he lowered himself into a chair. "But I do not know what good further talking will do." He grimaced. "We have been talking for nigh on these last ten days; yet we talk round and round that one thing we both know we need to confront."

Christine picked out an orange tiger lily and slipped it into the vase, raising her eyes to look at Erik. "And whose fault is that?"

"I do not wish to upset you."

"I begin to agree with Marie," Christine told him, a look of amazement on her face. "You are a fool!" She sighed loudly. "My husband was murdered. His sisters would take my child from me if they could find me. The life I knew, my dreams of the future," tears slipped at the corners of her eyes, "my hopes of growing old with Raoul and having him love me even when I would be wrinkled like a dried prune are gone. Everything is gone!" She wiped at her tears and sniffled. "I am going to be upset for a very long time."

"I do not want to upset you because I do not wish to harm your child," Erik said between clenched teeth.

Christine sighed angrily. "I am sad and lonely. I feel as if I have the weight of the world on my shoulders. I am distressed over the pain my actions have surely caused Philippe for he did not deserve any further grief." She fixed Erik with a steady glare. "But understand this – I am not the weak little girl you so easily manipulated any longer for the anger that would consume me should I so wish it has chased her away." She managed a slight laugh. "It amazes me the strength that bitter feelings bring to a person." Christine's expression grew soft. "Yet that strength is what surely saved my child; I am determined that nothing shall happen to her …"

"Her?" Erik interrupted.

"When Raoul and I would speak of children, his one desire was to have a daughter that looked like me," Christine told him, her gaze drifted away into memories that broke and comforted her heart in the same moment. "Now when I dream of my child, I see a little girl with his bright eyes and gold hair." A gentle smile transformed her face, chasing away the anger and grief. "She has long curls and my smile. She has that silly little laugh that belonged to her father and when she speaks it is with the voice of an angel." Christine's voice lowered to a barely breathed whisper. "She will be the daughter of Raoul's dreams."

"She sounds beautiful," Erik replied softly.

"She is," Christine told him in an equally soft voice as she returned from the well of her memories. "And my desire to keep her safe is the only thing that compels my actions. I will not permit you – or any other person – to hurt her. So say what you will and be done with it."

Erik ran a hand over his face. "Would that it were that easy."

"Look at me," Christine commanded waiting until Erik's eyes once again met hers. "Say 'Christine, please forgive me.' – such words can surely be spoken."

"And if I were to say them, would you forgive me?"

"Why should I?" Christine wondered. "Do you truly wish to be forgiven? Or is this just a poor salve to place upon your wounded heart in the hopes that it will cure all that ails you?"

"I no longer know you," Erik spat out, unable to keep the venom from his voice.

Christine picked two more flowers from the basket, placing them in the vase; her hands lingering over the calla lily. "You never truly did," she breathed. "You only knew the girl you fantasized about in your dreams." She raised the lily to her cheek, her eyes closing. "You tried to mold me into a doll with which you could play, a doll that was everything you wanted and nothing I wished." Christine raised the lily to her nose and sniffed at it. "Raoul," she breathed before lowering the lily and slipping it into the vase. She crossed her hands, placing them on the table before her. "You never asked me about my dreams, about my wishes, my desires. You never took the time to know me!" Christine held up a hand as Erik opened his mouth. "And listening to my private prayers and watching from the shadows does not constitute knowing me."

"What would you have me do, Christine?" Erik wondered, his exasperation with the woman seated across from him coloring his tone.

"I want you to know me," Christine told him. "I want you to see the woman you refused to acknowledge – the woman who loved another." Christine picked up another lily and stuffed it into the vase a bit harder than was necessary. "Why is that no one can believe that I loved my husband? Why is that I only ever heard the whispers that I married Raoul because he was rich or safe or second best? Why is it that no one can accept that he was my best friend and that I simply loved him for the truly good and gentle person that he was?" She looked at Erik. "Why is that you cannot believe I loved Raoul?"

Erik was silent for a long moment. "I do believe that you loved Raoul," he knew he would need to say the name for Christine to trust his words. "I think – no – I know that is what drove my desperate actions; I wanted you to love me the way that you loved him. I wanted you to turn to me for comfort. I wanted your eyes to gaze softly upon me. I wanted your arms about me, your lips clinging to mine with passion. I wanted everything he had."

Christine let out a long sigh and leaned back in her chair, one hand rubbing gentle circles over her child. "At last. You can finally speak the truth and not just to comfort me. You speak the truth for the sake of the truth." She eyed the man across from her with a dawning knowledge. "She must be very special."

"What?" Erik blurted out.

"This woman who now commands your heart," Christine told him. "She has done something I could never hope to do." She gave Erik a genuine smile as his puzzled gaze met hers. "She is turning you into a human being."

Erik, too, leaned back in his chair, his eyes closing. "She loves me in way you loved Raoul." A small smile graced his lips. "She loves me for the person that I am."

"Then you should return to her," Christine told him.

Erik opened his eyes. "But …"

"I am not yet ready to forgive the world for what it has taken from me," Christine said, "and I am not yet ready to forgive myself for allowing it to happen. How can I possibly forgive you?"

"I thought that …"

"We have made a beginning," Christine admitted, "but that is all we have done. There is much work we must still do before I am ready to forgive you." She leaned forward, reaching across the table, finding Erik's hand reaching for hers. "But it shall come," she assured him. "I am certain of it."

Assurances were also forthcoming for the woman who was transforming Erik from a ghost into a man.

"I am certain of it," Antoinette told Tallis as the young woman absent-mindedly dusted a shelf of books for the fifth time. "He shall return."

"I am not as confident as you," Tallis replied, waving her cloth back and forth over leather bindings.

"My dear," Antoinette tried and noticed that Tallis paid her no heed. "Look at me," she ordered, using her best ballet mistress voice, waiting until Tallis had turned around. Antoinette held out her hands. "Come and sit for a moment."

Tallis quickly shoved her cloth into the waistband of her apron and crossed the room, taking Antoinette's hands and sitting next to her.

Antoinette searched her companion's face, the emotions she saw breaking her heart. "Do you love him that much, then?"

"Yes," Tallis nodded and broke into tears.

"Oh, my dear child," Antoinette sighed as she drew Tallis to her side, resting the young woman's head upon her shoulder. "It is a long and difficult road you must travel. Take my words as wisdom learned over a lifetime of caring for that same man whom you love."

"I would not care and I do not care," Tallis insisted through her tears. "If only I knew he could love me at least a little."

"I think he does love you," Antoinette smiled and patted the arm about which hers was wrapped. "I think he loves you more than he realizes." Antoinette smiled at the sniffles coming from the woman she held. "But you must understand that Erik is a complex man – in many ways he is little more than a spoiled child. Some of that is my fault for trying to protect him all these many years and some of it is just his nature. He is intelligent and expects all those around him to equal him in such things. He is talented and expects to be adored for his abilities. He is stubborn and willful and can see nothing wrong with such behavior. Yet he can be sensitive and beneath all the complexities beats a gentle heart that has been broken one too many times."

Tallis grimaced, grateful that Antoinette could not see. "A heart that still belongs to Christine."

"Part of it will always belong to Christine," Antoinette replied, startled when Tallis sat up abruptly.

"I knew it!" Tallis said as she wiped at her tears. "I knew it! I knew he would never let her go! I knew I would never be enough for him!"

"There will never be any woman who will ever be enough for Erik," Antoinette said simply.

"Then why do I even care?" Tallis shot back.

Antoinette smiled at Tallis. "You care because you have a heart that is as gentle as his." She shook her head. "Loving Erik will never be an easy thing for you will not be enough for him just as Christine could never be enough for him. There will never be any woman who will be enough for Erik, who will be able to settle his wandering thoughts and his restless heart." She laid a hand over the ones that Tallis clasped in her lap. "But there will a woman who is wise enough to know such a thing and love him in spite of it."

"I do love him in spite of himself. I love everything about him and it would not matter if I did not know that he still thought of Christine, if he would only think of me first." Tallis heaved a great sigh. "How can I ever hope to compare to her? She is beautiful and elegant and …"

"And not the woman Erik loves," Antoinette finished for her. "That he may have loved her once, I will grant. That she will always hold a place of affection in his heart, I will also allow."

Tallis turned her head. "I am not strong enough to allow him such things."

"Then you must learn or you will surely lose him," Antoinette replied harshly, relenting a bit as Tallis turned to face her. "There is a bond between Erik and Christine that will exist far beyond the death of either." She smiled softly. "You know that he needs her forgiveness before he can begin to move that bond from his heart to his memory."

"But what if he … what if she …" Tallis stuttered. "What if they do not wish to break that bond? What if they both want something more?"

"Then you must make the decision to fight for him or to let him go."

"God grant I never need to make such a decision," Tallis whispered and thought_, "For I love him too much to think upon what I know I would do."_

Antoinette's own thoughts echoed her spoken words.

Echoes of another kind bounced off the mountains high above the city of Grenoble. They thudded forth from the open door of the barn, reaching for the surrounding slopes, flying up them and into the clear summer sky. The sounds danced around the closed courtyard and into the open windows of the house.

"What the hell is he doing out there?" Francois wondered. "All this damn pounding is making my headache."

"Are you sure it is not the wine?" Louis asked as he sniffed at an open bottle, his nose wrinkling in disgust.

Francois shook his head. "No, it is definitely Nico and that damn pounding! What the hell is he building out there?" He looked angrily at Louis. "And why are you letting him?"

Louis held up a hand, his fingers spread wide; he pushed down one. "I have no idea what he is building." He pushed down another finger. "You are not the only one tired of Nico's incessant pounding." Another finger pushed down. "I gave him the wood and the hammer and nails to work out some of that energy he seems to possess in boundless reserve." And another finger. "And I gave it to him so that he would stop pounding on our guest." The last finger went down as Louis nodded toward the ceiling. "We need our guest miserable but alive and we need him on the mend."

"Why bother?"

"I can think of twenty thousand reasons – each - to bother," Louis reminded Francois as he rolled his eyes.

"But why do we need him on the mend now? What is the point? His family thinks he is dead," Francois ran a hand through his hair. "Christ, they buried Edouard thinking it was him. Why not just let Nico have his fun?" He glared at the barn. "And stop that damn pounding!"

"Your shouting is not helping!" Louis sank into a chair. "Would you rather the pounding or the screams?"

Francois sank into the chair next to him. "Point taken," he said and reached for the bottle, taking a healthy swig, grimacing at the slightly bitter taste of the wine. "At least our guest is now quiet and has been so for these last two weeks," he snorted, "and on the mend. When I checked him this morning, those wounds were definitely looking better. But I still do not understand why?"

Louis grabbed the bottle and downed a large swallow of the stale, bitter wine, wiping his hand across his lips. "Because our friend wants to get our guest out of the country and he has not exactly been in a condition that would allow him to be moved. All we need to do is get him strong enough to survive a journey …"

"To where?" Francois interrupted.

Louis shrugged. "Hell if I know. I am just following orders and I am sure we will know when the time comes." Once again he raised his eyes to the ceiling. "Just hope he likes where is going to be spending the rest of his life."

And life was what the angel desperately struggled to bring back to the man seated before her. _"Raoul,"_ she whispered, reaching out to place her hands on his upraised knees._ "Please," _she begged. _"Speak to me!"_

Raoul just blinked his eyes and drew his arms tighter about his chest.

The angel reached up to run a finger lightly down his cheek. _"I am glad they shaved off that awful beard."_

There was no response from the man who sat silently on the hard floor, arms and legs unbound for the first time in over two months.

The angel touched bare feet. _"Your toes are healing."_ She laid a gentle hand upon his chest. _"And your ribs."_ She took his arms_. "And the knife wounds."_ Cool hands went to his forehead to trace down to hold his face. _"And your fever has broken and I know that the ache in your head has ceased."_

There was still no response.

The angel grew desperate. _"Raoul! Please!"_ she pleaded. _"You know they were only words! Words! Not deeds! Not actions! How could you ever think I would do any of those awful things?"_ Her thumbs lightly caressed chapped lips. _"I have loved you all my life! Even when I did not know that I loved you, still I loved you. You pulled me from the darkness! You saved my life, my soul, my very heart! You gave me everything for which I could ever have wished,"_ the angel leaned forward, staring deep into eyes that had lost their sparkle. _"You gave me your friendship, your love and I have never betrayed them. You know I would never betray you!"_ The angel bit back her tears. _"You gave me your child. You have entrusted me with your future – how could you ever believe I would endanger our dreams or jeopardize something so precious!"_

The angel watched silently for a moment, a small smile growing on her face as a single tear escaped to trail down Raoul's cheek.


	46. Chapter 46

**Chapter Summary:** Ten weeks after he disappeared, Life begins to return to something resembling normal for all those affected by Raoul's "murder". Even Raoul begins to struggle back from the abyss upon which he teeters while Nico happily falls into his own …

CHAPTER FORTY SIX

"Where the blazes is the damn thing?" Xavier wondered to himself as hands opened and closed desk drawers, rummaging through each one in turn. "Damn it," he said aloud as he stood, hands placed flat on his desk, eyes surveying the room about him.

"Such language," Monique chided him as she entered the room, smiling for her husband.

Xavier managed a quick smile in return before his expression grew grim again.

"Those storm clouds on your face like me not," his wife said. "What is it that troubles you so?"

Xavier moved from behind the desk and crossed the large parlor and began to look behind the books that lined the shelves along one wall. "I am looking for something," he replied.

"Obviously," Monique said. "May I ask what it is you seek?"

"A small brown leather pouch," he said, continuing to look along the shelves. "I had it with me when I left for Paris and I am certain I had it when I returned. Now I cannot find the damn thing!"

"Might I help?"

Xavier whirled on his wife. "No!" he angrily said, the tone of his voice just short of a shout.

Monique backed up a step. "I am sorry."

Instantly contrite, Xavier crossed the room, taking his wife's hands in his own, planting a soft kiss on her cheek. "It is I who am sorry," he told her gently. "I should appreciate your help but I did so wish to find it before you did."

"Why?" Monique wondered.

Xavier grinned at her. "That, my dear wife, is a reason I cannot share."

Monique's eyes narrowed. "You are up to no good, monsieur; I am certain of it."

"I am a red-headed devil and the fire in my hair is like to spread to my brain," Xavier said as he let go of his wife's hands. "It is a certainty that I am up to no good."

"Impossible," Monique muttered to herself as Xavier left the room and she took a seat, staring out the window and slowly closing her eyes as she heard the sounds of desperate searching echoing from each room. "Utterly impossible." She remained with her eyes closed, allowing her thoughts to drift backward to a recent afternoon, her head leaning against a strong shoulder, sun-warmed lips lingering against her cheek …

"That is a most pleasant smile," Xavier's voice said, interrupting her daydreams.

"Thoughts of you will always bring such joy to my lips," Monique lied as she opened her eyes. The thought that she had become such a good liar over the years of her marriage turned her stomach but she was accomplished enough to not permit her husband to see it. Monique finally noticed the small bag that Xavier held. "You found it."

"I did," he smiled back at her, holding out the leather pouch.

Monique's delicately arched brows creased in a puzzled frown. "For me?"

"Did you think I would travel all the way to Paris and not find some small trinket of my affection to bring home?"

Monique rose to her feet and took the pouch from her husband's hands. She unknotted and slipped apart the strings holding the pouch closed, peaking into the inside. The smile on her face when she raised her eyes to look at her husband was genuine and meant for him alone. "My tea!" she exclaimed. "How did you …"

"I knew you were nearly finished with what you had and I know how hard it is to find outside of Paris. I simply stopped at the tea merchant and purchased what he had left." Xavier nodded. "He is expecting another shipment in a month and has promised to send an entire chest to you."

Monique drew her husband into a warm hug. "Thank you," she breathed into his ear, planting a kiss on his cheek. "It was very considerate of you to think of me when you were trying to find Christine."

"I shall always think of you," Xavier replied and sighed. "I only wish I had been able to locate Christine. I did not like letting Philippe down."

"He told you he understood."

Xavier nodded his head against the one that leaned against it. "He always understands. Philippe is the best friend I have ever known."

Philippe had understood all too well his friend's lack of success in finding his brother's missing wife. Part of him had clung to the hope that Xavier and his men would be able to succeed where he had failed, find Christine and convince her it was safe to return. Yet the greater part of his mind, the rational part that was slowly beginning to function again, knew differently. Philippe had known that Christine had truly vanished from his life and those who might know where she was would not be easily swayed by pleadings or monetary offerings.

"I only hope they love her enough to see her safely through," he muttered.

"Pardon?" Arthur wondered.

"My mind is wandering again," Philippe said as he returned his attention to the work piled on his desk.

"Are you sure you wish to continue?" Arthur asked. "I can handle matters."

Philippe nodded his head. "As I am all too aware," he replied, managing a slight grin and leaning back in his chair. "But I can no longer allow events to move past without my attention. June has come and gone. July has come and gone. August has come and is quickly leaving. Raoul has been dead for over two months and he would not wish any in this family to allow life to continue to move forward without us." He sighed and sat up straight. "It is time to resume living." He looked at the paper beneath Arthur's hand. "What is that?"

Arthur cleared his throat. "It is a letter from Pierre Martin," he replied softly and watched as pain quickly washed over Philippe's face before the Comte composed himself. "He wishes to know what you would like to do with the Paris home. The home is still fully staffed and Pierre says they are at a loss to know what to do with themselves."

"Tell Pierre that the Paris home shall remain open and ready for occupancy, as always," Philippe said. "And I know that it must be difficult for the staff but they are being paid for their efforts and I do not wish to let any of them go." His eyes quickly glanced at the two letters to the right of his blotter before turning back to Arthur. "My sisters are fighting over which family should have me come to them for the holidays." He shook his head. "I know they mean well but I cannot yet bear to think of the holidays."

"Perhaps," Arthur had a thought, "your sisters could come here before the holidays – without their children – and, as a family, you could travel to Paris and sort through what Raoul and Christine left behind." He watched as Philippe winced in pain. "I know the thought hurts but it must be done and it is not something that the staff can do. This must be the job of the family."

Philippe sat quietly for a moment and slowly began to nod his head. "That is actually quite a good idea," he began softly, his voice growing stronger with each word. "I could close Chagny and spend the winter in Paris." He grimaced. "Enough time will have passed for even the English to not frown should I choose to venture out for a night at the opera or symphony and it would be comforting to see old friends again. Perhaps, I could even convince Xavier and Monique to join me." A small smile crossed his lips. "What would you think of spending the winter in Paris?"

Arthur smiled inwardly at the life Philippe was showing. "I think I should like that."

"Then we must begin to plan for such a thing now. I shall write to my sisters. It would be easy for Desiree to travel from Rome and meet me here; we could travel to Paris together. Charlotte could then travel from Vienna and met us in Paris. I think October would be a proper time." Philippe paused, blinking back the tears that wanted to begin. "I really will need their help going through …" His words were interrupted by a knock at upon the door; Philippe swallowed down the grief that always seemed so close to the surface. "Come," he called.

The door opened and Mathilde walked in, a huge tray piled with food in her hands. "It is after twelve of the clock and you have been working all morning," she said as she crossed the room, placing the tray on Philippe's desk and crossing her arms over her waist. "It is high time for a break and something to eat." She took note of the tears glistening at the edges of Philippe's eyes. "And I shall stand right here until I see food pass your lips."

"I believe that you would," Arthur chuckled.

"I am certain of it," Philippe said, looking at his housekeeper with warm appreciation.

Mathilde blushed lightly under his gaze but pointed at the tray. "Eat!"

"Did he eat?" a man wondered as another tray was brought into another room.

Francois placed the tray down hard on the kitchen table, the broth in the bowl slopping over the edges. "Since when did I become a nursemaid to some damn spoiled rich brat?"

Louis looked up at Francois from where he sat. "Since we have to get some of his strength back. Now, once again, did he eat?"

"Oh, he ate," Nico replied as he followed Francois into the kitchen of the leased home outside of Grenoble. "He did not want to but I forced his lips open and Francois put the spoon in," Nico's eyes narrowed, "and I made him swallow."

Louis rose to his feet. "I swear, Nico, if you hurt him again …" his words were cut off by Nico lunging across the room, his fingers closing over Louis' throat.

"I did not hurt him," Nico's eyes glittered dangerously, the fingers of his free hand closing about Louis' jaw. "It is about knowing where to press." His fingers pushed and Louis' jaw opened of its own accord. "And where to stroke." Nico's fingers pressed into Louis' throat, stroking it lightly. Suddenly the dangerous glitter in his eyes faded away, replaced by a blank stare that terrified even Louis as Nico's fingers tightened, beginning to cut off his air. "And it would take only a twitch to kill a man."

Louis found himself bent over the table, gasping for air as Nico released his grip.

"But I am an expert and know where to press," Nico leaned over to breath in Louis' ear. "And when." He walked across the floor and out the door, toward the barn.

"Jesus Christ," Francois said, finally able to draw his own breath, his frightened heart pounding in his chest.

"Has nothing to do with this," Louis finished as he straightened.

"Why do you let him get away that?" Francois wondered, rolling his eyes as the sound of pounding could once again be heard from the barn.

"Because for the moment we need him," Louis replied.

"For the moment?"

"What did I just say?" Louis snapped.

"What the hell are you yelling at me?" Francois shouted. "I just asked a damn question!"

Louis waved to a seat and watched as Francois crossed his arms over his chest, refusing to move. "Sit down," he ordered softly and waited to continue until Francois had done as he was told. "He," Louis nodded toward the ceiling, "may not exactly be himself but we cannot exactly trust that, now can we? Nico is the only one who can still strike fear into his heart and keep him under control. So we need Nico until we can get our guest to wherever the hell it is he is going to be going."

Francois' eyes narrowed. "So you are saying that Nico …"

"I am not saying anything," Louis quickly interrupted him. "And I suggest you leave it at that. Now I have a question for you."

"What?"

"Did you see a leather pouch anywhere?"

Francois snorted. "They are all over the damn place!"

"I mean the pouch with the ring in it," Louis told him softly.

"Aw Christ," Francois said softly, running a hand through his hair.

The angel was upstairs at the same moment running soft hands through Raoul's hair. "I think I like your hair shorter," she said gently, fingers lightly touching the sparse hair replacing that which had been forcibly torn away. "Soon it shall all be the same length."

Raoul just sat on the floor and did not respond.

"_Raoul,"_ the angel said as she cupped his face in her hands, _"please talk to me. Tell me what you are thinking. Say you are angry with me, with those men. Say you never want to see me again. Say something!"_ A single tear traced down the angel's cheek. _"Please!"_ She watched as Raoul's lips moved. _"What, my love?"_

"Hurt," Raoul whispered.

"_Did they hurt you again?"_ the angel wondered worriedly.

Raoul finally focused on the vision kneeling before him. "You," he said.

The angel's slight smile straightened, her lips forming a straight line. She shook her head, her thumbs caressing the cheeks beneath them. _"I would never hurt you,"_ she told him. _"You are my husband, my lover, my best friend. You are my strength. You are my whole world!"_

"You lied," Raoul told her.

The angel withdrew her hands and hung her head. _"I did,"_ she replied. _"I lied about the baby."_ She raised her head. _"But I did not do it to hurt you."_

Raoul turned his head away from her. "Go away," he told her.

"_As you would,"_ the angel said as she stood, beginning to fade into the sparsely furnished room. _"But know that I am always with you for you cannot run from your heart."_

Raoul closed his eyes and carefully leaned his head against the wall behind him. "I know," he whispered to the empty room.

Even as Raoul's subconscious mind struggled to pull him back from the brink of the abyss, out in the barn Nico was already falling over that brink. Each echoing thud from the hammer he held pushed him a bit further into the darkness. Finally Nico threw the hammer to the ground, the last thuds resounding off the barn walls and disappearing into the afternoon. He stepped back to look at his handiwork.

"So pretty," Nico said as a hand reached out to caress the wooden object. His hand lingered over a hole that had been from the top. "So pretty," he whispered again, leaning over to rest his upper body on the top. "So pretty."

"So pretty," Didier sighed as he hugged Arlette, the local barmaid about the waist.

Arlette laughed and lightly tapped Didier on the head. "You are so brazen, sir!" She turned to look at Henri who was seated across from Didier, an eyebrow raising. "What is with him?" she whispered as she turned her attention back to Didier. "Is he ever going to be fun again?"

"Give us a minute," Didier told her, squeezing her lightly.

Arlette bent over and kissed the top of Didier's head. "I hope you can do something to bring him back to us," she whispered before turning and gliding suggestively across the crowded inn.

Didier did not even watch her leave but had his attention entirely focused on his friend seated across from him. "Henri?" he questioned.

Henri said nothing but stared silently into the depths of his mug. He lifted the mug to his lips and drained what remained inside, placing the mug back on the table and finally raising his head to look at Didier. "You are a better man than I," he began.

"Henri …" Didier interrupted with a shake of his head.

"Let me finish, please!" Henri pleaded, catching Arlette's eye and raising his hand. He waited until Arlette returned with a mug full of foamy ale and left, downing nearly half of what was in the mug before speaking again. "If you knew something and knew that it could destroy everything about you, would you tell someone?"

"If it was important," Didier nodded, "yes, I would."

"But what if you were not sure if it was real or not?" Henri drained the last of his ale. "What if it was only a nightmare?" He looked frightened. "What if it was something you only imagined? What if it was your mind slowly going insane?"

"Now you are just being dramatic!" Didier crossed his hands over his chest. "Was there ever a member of your family not prone to theatrics?"

Henri scowled at his friend. "I really do not need this from you," he said and rose to his feet, turning on his heel and walking quickly toward the front door of the inn.

"Henri," Didier said as he, too, rose to his feet, moving after his friend, "wait!"

But Henri did not heed Didier and left the inn. He walked across the graveled area in front of the inn, grabbing the reins of his horse and easily mounting. Henri looked down when he felt a hand on his ankle.

"You are in on condition to ride," Didier warned.

"Let go of me," Henri said and kicked out at Didier, knocking the other young man aside, spurring his horse forward and away from the inn.

"Damn it," Didier muttered, as he moved quickly to his own horse, chasing Henri down the road. "Henri!" he shouted to the rider galloping some distance from him. "Will you stop!" He spurred his own horse forward, trying to catch up before something happened to Henri.

He would be too late.

"Henri!" Didier shouted as a dog bolted across the road in front of Henri's horse. Didier watched helplessly as the startled horse reared back and Henri was thrown, landing flat on his back on the hardened summer ground. Didier pulled up short as he reached the spot where Henri lay still and prone on the ground. Didier quickly slipped from his horse to kneel next to his friend. "Henri?" he asked hesitantly, reaching out a hand to rest against the other man's shoulder. Didier breathed a sigh of relief as Henri opened his eyes. "Thank God."

Henri settled his elbows on the ground and tried to lift himself to a sitting position.

"Do not," Didier cautioned. "Are you sure nothing is broken?"

"Other than my bruised pride?" Henri shook his head. "No."

Didier helped Henri rise to a sitting position, concern written all over his young face. "Are you certain you are all right? Should you try to be moving?"

Henri nodded his head and looked at Didier with frightened eyes. "I am going insane," he breathed. "It is a surety that I am losing my mind and my parents will have to lock me away in Bedlam before I hurt anyone." He gave Didier a strange look. "Before I say anything that will destroy everyone about me."

"Henri …"

"I am losing my mind," Henri said, the tears beginning to form. "What am I going to do?" he wondered as he placed his head into his hands, his shoulders beginning to shake.

Didier could do nothing but sit in the road with his friend, offering whatever comfort could be found in the touch of a hand.

Touching hands, comforting hands were the also the gift that Tallis offered to Erik as they sat quietly on the iron bench in Madame Giry's back garden. She kept both of his hands gently held in her own as she studied the face that was turned from her.

"It is all right, you know," Tallis told him.

Erik heaved an angry sigh and turned to look at the woman seated next to him. "I know and I do not wish it to be all right."

Tallis looked puzzled. "What would you have me do?"

"Yell. Shout. Scream obscenities at me! Beat me on the chest! Order me not to return to her!" Erik told her, his voice rising with each word.

"I love you," Tallis replied softly.

Erik raised her hands to his lips, kissing in each in turn, his anger deflated by her softly spoken words. "And I do not know which of us that makes the fool – you for loving me," Erik reached it to take a willing kiss. "Or me for wanting it so."

A smile curled the ends of Tallis' lips. "Definitely you."

Erik laughed delightedly and took back his hands, slipping an arm about Tallis' waist, drawing her close, feeling her head go to his shoulder. His free hand reached up to caress her cheek, his head going against hers. "Then I am the greatest fool in the world."

Tallis bit the inside of her lip. "You still love her, do you not?"

"Yes," Erik replied, knowing whom Tallis meant. "But not in the way that I should hope to love you one day."

Tallis could feel her heart skip a beat as she finally heard the words for which she had been praying slip from Erik's lips.

"Yet, I fear there shall always be something about Christine that will stir the hidden embers of my heart." He shook his head, his free hand reaching for one of Tallis, fingers intertwining. "I will always love her for it was she who showed me what it means to love and one does not forget the first great love of a life." Erik's voice lowered. "Especially a life that was so devoid of any warm emotion."

Tallis blinked back her tears. "One never does forget," she agreed, lightly squeezing the hand that held to her own. "When do you return?"

"Two days time," Erik told her. "Firstly, I must give the Baron his music." A real smile crossed his face. "I have played it for Antoinette and she says she can hear her daughter in every note. I think it will be a lovely gift for their first anniversary."

"And secondly?" Tallis wondered.

Erik placed a finger beneath her chin and lifted her face to his. "I wish to spend time with you," he said simply, seeking her lips. "Perhaps someday I shall write a piece of music for you," he whispered against Tallis lips before demanding and receiving another kiss.

"What would it be like?" Tallis sighed as she settled back into Erik's side.

Erik did not even need to think about what it would be like. "Simple and peaceful," he told her, leaning over to kiss the top of her head. "Like this moment."

Tallis sighed, her heart easing at his words even as her mind knew he was still torn between the two women who laid claim – in one way or another – to his troubled heart.

Marie, too, was suffering from a troubled heart as she sat in the sunny garden with Christine, a tray of lemonade on the table between their two chairs. "I do not think that is such a good idea," she said.

Christine sipped at the lemonade, something in the sweet tartness satisfying the craving that she had been having all day. "That is so good," she breathed as she set the glass down. "I am so glad your brother was able to find lemons at the market."

"It is easy enough this time of the year," Marie told her, knowing that Christine was changing the subject. "I still do not think what you are planning on doing is wise."

"Marie," Christine began with a shake of her head. "What choice do I have?"

"You could stay here!" Marie exclaimed. "I know there is enough money to purchase this house and then still have money left over. You do not need to be taking the Vicomte's baby half-way around the world!"

Christine sat silently for a moment. "Do you think I wish to leave? Do you not think I want to run back to Chagny and the safety and security that Philippe could offer?" Christine's hand reached across the small table to rest on Marie's. "I am terrified! I am not terrified of being on my own but I am terrified of raising Raoul's baby on my own."

"You do not have to!" Marie insisted.

"Someday, perhaps, there will come a time when I need not be frightened," Christine had to agree. "But that moment is not yet come. When my child is old enough to fight for herself, when she is old enough to speak her mind, then it will be time to stop being frightened of losing her. Now, I cannot take the chance that she will be ripped from my arms." Tears slipped down Christine's cheeks and she did not stop them. "I cannot bear to have anyone else ripped from my arms and lost forever to me. I cannot."

"But America!" Marie shook her head. "What of Sweden? Is that not where you were from originally? Could you not go there? It is closer to France?"

Christine finally wiped at her tears. "I had thought of Sweden but sooner or later they will think to look for me there." She sniffled. "And America is such a huge land and it is said that if offers the opportunity to create a new life for everyone. I would like to create that new life for myself and my child. I would like to buy a small house – near a lake, perhaps. If we lived cautiously, there would be enough money for years and I could always give voice lessons should the need arise." She smiled to herself, her thoughts turning inward. "I did have a wonderful teacher." Christine sighed as she once again turned her attention to Marie. "I will have my baby in France because I know Raoul would have wanted his child born in the land he loved but after that …" her head shook.

Marie pouted. "I know I cannot change your mind," she said, "but do not think to leave me behind."

"You cannot leave your family to follow me around the world."

"And I cannot let you and your child do this alone." Marie tilted her head, eyebrow raising, lips setting. "The Vicomte would expect me to be there to help and help is exactly what I intend to do."

It took but a moment of silence before Christine laughed delightedly. "You are such a good friend!"

"And you and the Vicomte were very good to me," Marie replied softly.

Christine's gaze turned toward the sea, a hand going to the growing bulge beneath her mourning gown. "He was very good to everyone," she whispered.


	47. Chapter 47

**Chapter Summary:** It is now nearing the middle of September and life continues to move forward for all those affected by the events of June. Christine seeks a sign of forgiveness. Tallis frets over Erik who continues to make promises while trying to juggle the two women in his life. Fear and exhaustion continue to beckon Raoul toward the abyss. Philippe makes a rather startling decision. And Meg and Antoinette make some observations.

CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN

August came and went, taking with it the heat and humidity of a long summer. Long days full of summer leisure that had walked boldly through the front door slowly disappeared into lengthening shadows of longer nights that crept stealthily in through the back door. The changing of wind currents heralded the arrival of September and a slow but steady drop in temperatures that chased those of leisure back to their cities and the farmers into their fields. Men in boats spent long periods of time in the Channel chasing their catch as the fish chased the warmer currents suddenly moving south toward the Atlantic. The Earth and its inhabitants were marking the days and preparing for the time when winter would come howling chasing all inside - some toward the warmth of hearths and some to the gaiety of a new social season.

Christine looked at the calendar on the desk in the small parlor, her finger reaching out to lightly trace the box marking the twenty-third day of September. "Raoul," she sighed…

"_Raoul!" Christine protested, stamping her foot._

"_If you shout at me," her husband replied, "I shall not listen."_

"_If you do not listen, then I shall make the plans all by myself and you will have to like whatever it is that I choose to do!"_

_Raoul sighed in exasperation and looked up from the account ledger he was studying. "Why do we have to do anything?" he wondered._

"_It is your birthday! It is the first birthday…"_

_Raoul grinned at his wife. "I hardly think it is my first birthday."_

"_Be serious!" Christine frowned at him. "It is the first birthday we are going to celebrate since we were wedded." She studied the man staring up at her from behind his desk, that stupid grin on his face and Christine knew exactly how to get round him. "But Raoul," she said, her eyes growing wide, her bottom lip beginning to pout, "I did so want to make this special. I wanted to have a big celebration for all your friends," she shook her head, correcting herself, "our friends."_

_Raoul, too, shook his head and slowly rose to his feet, moving from behind the desk to slip his hands easily about his wife's waist. He frowned into her upturned face. "Do not think that that look shall work with me."_

_Christine's mouth opened and closed in amazement._

"_Even after this brief of a time together, I know you so well, my dear," Raoul laughed and his voice lowered, the lids of his eyes partly closing. "I know all the tricks you use to wrap me around your delicate fingers."_

_Christine studied her husband's face, one side of her mouth curling into a strange grin. "And I know your looks, as well, my love," she said and reached up to grab his tie, pulling his head down to her, kissing him soundly on the lips. "Do not think that look will work with me!" she said far too sweetly as she squirmed out of Raoul's grasp and ran for the door._

"_Oh no, you do not!" Raoul said as he easily crossed the room, grabbing Christine and whirling her around just as she opened the door. "Do not think to escape me that easily, Madame!" he said, pulling her close, burying his face in the crook of her neck._

_Christine could feel herself melting at the light nibbling she felt on her earlobe. "I do not wish to escape you, Monsieur," she sighed._

"_Can I tell you now what I wish for my birthday present," Raoul breathed into her ear._

_Christine's foot reached back and kicked the door closed. "Please…"_

"Please," Christine whispered, one hand on her child, her eyes lifted to Heaven. "One gift. All I ask is one gift." Christine mentally counted the weeks since her last cycle and thought that if she were lucky it would happen around the time of Raoul's birthday. She was not certain she would recognize it when it happened but she had asked the right questions and thought she was prepared. Christine closed her eyes, praying for the one sign that would let her know Raoul had forgiven her, the one sign that it was all right to move on with life, the one sign that it was all right to forgive those who sought forgiveness. The one sign that would allow her to forgive herself.

"Is Christine ever going to forgive you?" Tallis wondered as she sat in the parlor of Madame Giry's, Erik by her side.

"I wish I knew," Erik told her, a frown creasing already troubled features.

"What is it?"

Erik turned to Tallis. "I wish I knew her," he said simply, shaking his head, his gaze growing distant. "I thought I knew my angel, I thought I knew the person she was and now I am not so certain. I do not recognize this new Christine. I never knew her capable of such anger, such sorrow. I would never have thought she bore a capacity for cruelty."

Anger flashed across Tallis' face. "Has she hurt you?"

Erik leaned over and planted a gentle kiss on Tallis' cheek. "We hurt each other," he told her. "I am afraid we no longer know any other way."

Tallis could not let go of her anger. "You know better," she insisted.

"I know better when I am with you," Erik replied softly. "You bring out the best in me."

"One thing I can do better than she," Tallis muttered.

Now it was Erik's turn to anger. "You do not – ever – compare yourself to Christine! Do you understand me?" Erik placed his entire hand over her mouth as Tallis opened it. "And do not put words into my mouth! I know you are not Christine and I do not wish you to be!" He lowered his hand. "I want you to be Tallis. I want you to be…" He shook his head struggling for the words.

Tallis placed a finger on his lips. "You do not need to say it," she told him. "I know you are not yet ready to find the person you are seeking. I know there are still feelings – yearnings – for Christine, for what was lost and what might have been." A sad little smile passed her lips. "I am not that naïve. You seek her forgiveness but I do not think that is all you seek."

Erik turned his head.

And Tallis bit down her tears. "I know you want her to acknowledge that there was at least a small amount of warm emotion in her heart for you. I know you need to know that she was capable of loving you so that you will know that what you felt for her was truly love and not just a baser emotion. I know this is so for without it, you will never be able to love me."

Erik closed his eyes but still could not look at Tallis.

Tallis drew a deep breath, folding her hands in her lap, composing her emotions. "When do you return?"

"Tomorrow," he finally said.

"I worry about you," Tallis told him. "This constant travel – two days by train to Boulogne, a few days there, two days back here, a few days here and the cycle repeats – it will wear you out! And then you may become careless and someone will see you and know and … and …" she shook her head unable to bear the thought.

Erik finally turned back to her. "If I am nothing else," he said, a hand going to over the folded ones in Tallis' lap, "I am careful." His eyes smiled at her, pulling her into his ever-expanding soul. "I must be or we shall never discover just how much love I have to give."

Tallis reached for the arms reaching for her and melted into Erik's embrace. "I will gladly take whatever you can give me," she whispered to him.

Erik leaned into his cheek against hers, marveling at the willing softness of the woman in his arms. "And I will have you settle for nothing less than all I have to give."

"_I will give you anything you desire,"_ the angel said as she sat beside Raoul, clasped hands resting on upraised knees. _"But I cannot give what I do not know."_

Raoul sat still and silent.

The angel moved her feet beneath herself, moving forward slightly so that she could kneel before Raoul. _"Would you like to get up and walk? Even just a little?"_

Fear flashed across Raoul's face, his head shaking. "No," he told the angel. "I cannot do that without their permission."

"_Can you do anything without their permission?"_ the angel wondered, her tone tinged with exasperation. _"Can you breathe or move? Can you eat or sleep? Can you despise me? Can you get angry with me?"_ Her voice lowered. _"Can you still love me?"_

Raoul's chin trembled. "I want to," he told the angel. "I want to love you but I cannot."

The angel looked worried. _"Do you hate me that much? Can you not forgive me?"_

"I am frightened," Raoul whispered, his head turning to look out the window at a stray leaf that drifted by.

"_Why?"_

Raoul sniffled back invisible tears, his arms wrapping protectively over his chest, careful of tender fingertips. "Because if they know you are here, if they hear us speaking, then they will make you go away." He turned back to look at the angel. "And if you leave, I shall lose my mind."

"_They can never make me leave,"_ the angel said as she reached out a hand to touch Raoul's forehead. _"For I live in here," _she touched his heart, _"and here."_ She smiled at him. _"And Ruth said, Entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I shall go; and where thou lodgest, I shall lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God. Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried. The Lord do so to me and more, also, if ought but death part thee and me." _

Raoul closed his eyes, no longer able to fight the lonely, despairing tears.

"_Let me be your strength,"_ the angel pleaded, _"just as once you were mine. Just as once you were my voice of reason in the chaos, let me be your voice of reason."_ She reached to trace the tears that slid down Raoul's cheek. _"Just as you loved me more than I loved you once, allow me to love you more this time. Cling to me as once I clung to you. Allow me to willingly give my life for you as once you were willing to give yours for me."_

"No. No more pain." Raoul shook his head. "No more loss. No more death." His eyes opened again and he leaned his head against the wall. "Peace. I want to be at peace."

The angel grew angry. _"Do not let them win!"_ She grabbed the front of his worn shirt. _"Do you hear me? Do not let them win! You do not give in to them! You do not give in to the pain! Fight back, Raoul,"_ she ordered him, _"fight back!"_

"I cannot fight any longer," Raoul whispered. "I am too tired."

"_Are you too tired to fight for your child?"_ the angel wondered.

The unfathomable loss in Raoul's eyes broke the angel's heart. "It does not matter for I will never see my child; you took it away." The depth of his softly spoken words slowly crept into Raoul's consciousness; he buried his face in his hands. "I will never see our baby. I will never …" Raoul's shoulders began to shake.

"You will never what?" a stern male voice wondered.

Raoul took a deep breath and raised his head to look at Louis standing before him, the angel having vanished back into Heaven.

"I asked a question," Louis said. "Where is my answer?"

"I will never do anything without your permission," Raoul told him.

"That is what I thought you said," Louis replied. He moved to tower over Raoul, offering a small mug. "Drink this," he ordered.

Raoul did as he was told, the water soothing a dry mouth, a parched throat, spreading from the hollow of his stomach to every corner of his being, making his head spin.

Louis recognized the symptoms of the sleeping draught beginning to take effect and took the mug from Raoul's hand. He stood looking down at Raoul for a moment, watching the hostage's eyes turn glassy and distant. "There are far better ways to control you other than pain," he said and called out. "It is safe, he knows nothing."

The man who so easily manipulated the actions of those about him walked into the room and stood next to Louis; his eyes looked down at Raoul, narrowing in appreciation. "Yes," he said, the whispered word resembling the hissing of a deadly snake, "he is improved enough to survive the journey but not so improved as to be able to fight back." A booted foot kicked out at Raoul's barely healed toes. "Are you, my dear sir?" He was gratified to receive no return word or action from the hostage.

"When do we move?" Louis wondered.

"Mid October," the man replied, never moving his focus from Raoul's face.

"Another month?" Louis was worried. "I do not know if we can wait another month! You are in that fine home, running all the intrigue, while Francois and I must constantly guard against Nico! I am not sure how much longer we can control him!"

The man whirled on Louis, grabbing him by the shirt front and flinging him across the room. Before Louis even had the chance to breathe, the man was upon him, dragging him to his feet, pulling his face close. "Understand me," he said in a soft tone that carried more menace than any shout, "you will find a way to control that animal and I do not care how it is done, short of murder! Is that perfectly clear? I need him alive until we can get our guest to Spain and onto a ship for America. Once that happens, you can do whatever you wish with Nico and your other friend and I will not care but until that time, things shall stay as I wish!" Pale eyes bore into Louis' own, speaking of madness beyond madness, a cold and calculating madness, madness the likes of which not even Nico was capable. "Just nod your head and say yes," the man ordered.

"Yes," Louis replied with a nod of his head.

"Yes," Philippe nodded as he signed his name with a flourish, "that should do quite nicely." He smiled as he looked up and handed the papers to Arthur. "See that those are delivered to the correct merchants and the letters are posted to my sisters."

"As you say, Monsieur," Arthur replied as he took the paper from Philippe's hand adding it to the pile he already held.

"And you may take that tongue out of your cheek," Philippe told him.

Arthur's laugh was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Come," Philippe called out and rose to his feet at the sight of the woman coming into his study. "Monique!" A pleased but puzzled look crossed his face. "What are you doing here?"

Monique crossed the room, taking the hand that Arthur held out before turning to Philippe. "I am at a loss as to what to do with myself alone in that large house and thought I would visit an old friend."

Arthur looked at the two people before him and cleared his throat. "I will see to business," he said and quietly left the room.

Philippe was barely aware of Arthur's leaving. "What do you mean alone?" he wondered.

"Oh you know," Monique waved a hand in the air as she moved to sit on one of the wing chairs placed before Philippe's desk. "Didier packed several bags insisting that he had something important that required his attention. Not that he would explain it to me."

Philippe frowned. "I heard the same excuse from Henri the other morning. He has been grousing about things that make no sense. I threatened to send him home to his parents and he said he would go on his own. He left that afternoon."

"You do not think they are together, do you?" Monique wondered.

Philippe shrugged. "I think I would feel more comfortable about Henri's state of well being if they were. That boy shall be the death of me …" Philippe's voice trailed off. "I am sorry," he managed after a few moments of strained silence.

"There is no need to apologize," Monique told him, her heart breaking as she saw the still raw pain in Philippe's eyes.

"You said you were alone," Philippe continued after clearing his throat. "Where is Xavier?"

Monique had the good sense to blush.

"What are you hiding from me?" Philippe wondered.

"Please do not be angry with us," Monique began.

"What reason would I ever have to be angry with either of you?" Philippe interrupted.

Monique lowered her eyes. "Xavier went to Brittany … to Perros … to try and find Christine for you."

Philippe let out a long sigh and leaned back in his chair. "I wish he had not," he told Monique as he shook his head.

"How can you say that?" Monique was shocked.

Philippe leaned forward, placing his crossed arms upon the edge of his desk. "I wish you could understand," he began. "I have come to terms with the fact that my brother is gone forever. His loss hurts more than anything I have ever known but I am learning that I can live without him as long as I have the memories. I have also come to realize that when I lost Raoul, I lost Christine and their child. It was almost as if one did not exist without the other." Philippe shook his head. "And just as I cannot hold to my brother, I cannot hold to some vague possibility that Christine can be found. She does not wish it and I must honor that." He shrugged. "I am beginning again. I am going to have to live the life I should have been living at twenty-four. I am going to need to live the life that Raoul lost."

Monique could feel the room begin to spin about her. "What are you saying?"

Philippe rose to his feet and walked from behind his desk, sitting in the chair next to Monique. "I am saying that as tempting as it is to leave the fate of this family to Henri, I know such a thing would be foolish, indeed. I am saying that I shall close this great barn of a house and return to Paris in a month." He knew his next words would be hard for the woman seated next to him to hear; they had been hard for him to contemplate. "I am saying that I think it is time for me to return to my place in Society, my duty to Paris, my duty to my family's name." Philippe drew a deep breath and set his shoulders. "I think it is time I married and secured the future of what is left of my family."

"But what of Christine? What of Raoul's child?"

"I doubt I will see Christine or her child for a great many years – if ever," Philippe had to admit and grimaced. "It is time to remember what is owed to my heritage. It is time to let the past go and move forward."

Monique buried her emotions as she had done for so many years, laying a hand on the one that Philippe rested on the arm of the chair. "Then allow your friends to support you."

"I am counting on it," Philippe replied with a gentle smile.

A gentle smile also graced Meg's face as she sat with her mother in the sunny front parlor of the townhouse she shared with Val. Meg was dressed in a simple morning dress, her hair worn loose, flowing easily over her shoulders. She was seated facing the window, unafraid of the light pouring in and highlighting young skin. Meg's mother, on the other hand, was seated with her back to the window. Antoinette was not old but was she no longer young and the harsh light streaming in and warming the comfortable room did nothing to grace her complexion. Yet Antoinette found she could enjoy the radiant beauty of the young woman sitting across from her, teacup held lightly in her hands.

"I do not think I have seen you quite this happy in months," Antoinette told her daughter.

Meg put down her teacup. "I have not been this happy in months." A frown creased her delicate features. "And yet I feel guilty for being so happy when Christine is not."

"My dear child," Antoinette told her as she, too, put down her teacup. "I know for a fact that Christine is doing much better than she has been." She sighed. "It is not an easy thing to lose a husband – no matter the cause – but it is something that Time will always have a way of healing. Yes, she is still angry and that is something that will not pass easily but she will fine." Antoinette reached into the reticule that rested on the sofa next to her, pulling out a creamy linen envelope, handing it to Meg. "And she sent this letter for you."

Meg's eyes lit up with delight as she took the envelope from her mother's hands, looking at the familiar writing. "Oh," she breathed, staring at it for a moment before slipping it into a book on the table. "I shall save that for later this afternoon when I may read and enjoyit at leisure." She eyed her mother with an uncanny intelligence. "Did Erik bring that back?"

"He did," Antoinette admitted.

"Maman, what are they hoping to accomplish by this?" Meg wondered. "What is the sense of his constant traveling back and forth? Why are they insisting on opening all those old wounds?" Meg bit her bottom lip as she thought. "Are both of them not wounded enough, all ready?"

Antoinette could feel the emotion rise in her throat from the words that slipped from her daughter's lips. Meg had been an exuberant child, somewhat tempered by her father's death and the change it brought to her life. Yet Meg had never lost the joy that was found in even the simplest moments of life. She had grown from an awkward adolescent into a graceful teenager with finely toned limbs and a lithe body. The teenager had eventually given way to the graceful woman with the ready smile who now sat across from her mother. And throughout the years of childhood laughter, teenage whispers and womanly sighs, Meg had also carefully observed, developing an insight into the characters of those about her that did her mother proud.

"They are," Antoinette finally agreed. "But neither of them will ever be able to heal those wounds, to let go of the other, to begin to find the peace in their souls until they can forgive each other."

"Is that even possible after all that has happened?"

"I certainly hope and pray for such a thing." Antoinette sighed. "I am very fond of them both and would like nothing better than to see each of them settled into whatever it is that life now holds."

Meg's eyes grew wide. "You do not think … I mean … they will not end up with each other. Will they?"

"There is a freedom and a selfless love that can be found in forgiveness," Antoinette told her daughter, "that has nothing to do with a physical attraction." She rose to her feet, turning and walking to look out the window; even now the people of Paris were beginning to bundle themselves against the coming chill. Antoinette felt a chill in her spine that had nothing to do with the steady drop in temperature. "That is what I am hoping that Erik and Christine will find," she said as she raised her eyes to the sky before turning back to look at her only child. "If they were to do otherwise, it may very well lead to their mutual destruction."

"Oh, Maman," Meg sighed.

"I love them both, Meg; but I am not blind to their faults." Antoinette crossed her arms about her waist and leaned slightly into the wall behind her. "Christine and Erik can both be very selfish in their own ways and there are others to consider. There is Christine's child and …"

"And there is Tallis," Meg finished with a shake of her head. "Val would be very displeased if Erik were to break her heart." Meg studied her mother for a moment. "And I think you would be more displeased if such an event were to come to pass."

"I would," Antoinette told her and turned to once again look out onto the street. "Yet I am more worried about what will happen should Tallis break Erik's heart."


	48. Chapter 48

**Chapter Summary:** Erik and Christine continue their search for mutual forgiveness. Raoul and his angel also struggle with forgiveness. Three men struggle with their individual demons. And the police receive another piece to the puzzle.

_**Author's Notes:** Okay I think this one might need a _**"Tissue Issue"**_ warning. I cried while writing it and, even though I am a wimp, I am still issuing the warning. The story of Saddell Castle and Abbey is true and I have pictures of the fog-shrouded castle and myself on a the sunny beach just beyond to prove it. _

CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT

"This is nice," Erik said, looking down in pleasant surprise to find Christine slipping her arm through his.

"It is very nice," she replied with a slight smile before turning to look out over the ocean where diamonds sparkled in the spray that danced along the top of the waves. "I love being near the water."

Erik noted a driftwood log that had come to rest near the base of the cliffs that towered over the beach. "Would you like to sit for a few moments?" he wondered, briefly turning his head to look back at the two sets of footprints that trailed in their wake.

"I would," Christine said, her free hand moving to her back, massaging the base of her spine.

"Are you all right?" Erik worried. "Have I walked you too far? Should I carry you back?"

Christine actually laughed. "I am fine," she assured him. "My weight is shifting," she glanced down at her ever expanding mid-section before raising her head and looking at Erik, "if you have not noticed and sometimes my back aches a bit. But it is no worse than a long day spent training under Antoinette."

Erik heaved a huge sigh of relief and guided Christine over to the log. He kept hold of her hand as she settled before joining her, sitting down on the log. Erik kept hold of the hand he clasped and followed Christine's gaze out over the dark, rolling water. "This is so peaceful," he said softly.

He had arrived two days earlier after having promised Tallis he would be careful, knowing that he was breaking her heart a bit more each time he left but unable to help himself. He had made the trip from Paris to Boulogne without incident – no one caring or paying attention to the man with the hat pulled down over his face. Erik had arrived on Christine's doorstep to find the anger that boiled in his angel reduced to a mere simmer. He had been received with a grudging acceptance - even from Marie. Yet he and Christine had still managed to talk their way entirely around the one subject that neither truly wanted to face – their past.

Now, on this day before he was to leave, they had walked from Christine's home, across the green expanse that separated the homes from the cliff edge. Christine had shown him the easy winding trail that led down to the nearly deserted beach, pulling at his hand, urging him forward. Erik had been hesitant, not wishing to jeopardize her child again but Christine had shaken her head and smiled at him, the doctor had been encouraging her to become more active. Erik told himself that he had taken the small offered hand reluctantly, allowing her to walk him along the ocean's edge. He told himself there was nothing for him in the woman beside him, in the long curls that waved back at the water, in the gentle sighs, the warm arm linked through his, the glistening eyes that focused with such passion on something he could not see. Erik told himself that this was nothing more than a perfect September day with a perfect angel beside him.

"Raoul did so love the sea," Christine said softly.

The spell was broken.

"So you have said," Erik replied.

"He was so gallant as a child," she continued, lost in memories, unaware of the effect a mere name possessed, "running into those pounding waves to retrieve my scarf." Christine shook her head. "And he always found time for us to visit the ocean. We even honeymooned in Scotland along the great sea lochs. It was wild and untamed and so romantic. Raoul knew what would stir the heart of dreamer."

Erik watched the emotions that played across the face of his angel, wondering when he had forgotten that she possessed the heart of a romantic dreamer. "He was a good man," he admitted.

Christine turned to look at him, her free hand going to her head to hold back hair that had escaped from its ribbon. "And Mademoiselle Ordogne is a good woman." She tilted her head at the amazement on Erik's face. "Did you think I was so blind? I remember the look I saw on her face the day I came to see Madame Giry and handed her my card. I did not realize it at the time, of course; but hindsight is always perfect."

"She is a good woman," Erik told Christine. "Far better than I deserve."

Christine studied him in silence for a moment. "We have both loved and been loved by others who were better than we." She shook her head sadly. "We are not nice people, you and I. I have been too much of the indecisive child, unable to make up my mind, always wanting what I could not have, unable to make a decision until my hand was forced."

Erik winced. "How many times, how many ways, must I say I am sorry for that!" He felt the hand he still held gently squeeze his own.

"That is not my point," Christine told him. "Please let me finish."

"Please."

"And you," Christine sighed, "you were the puppet master. You were the man behind the scenes pulling the strings of all those about you. You were like a … like a …" she struggled for a moment to find the right word. "You were like a benign despot – if such a thing is even possible. You tried to create a world full of people who would love and adore you in spite of their fear of you. You tried to hold them in your fist without knowing that they could slip through your fingers."

Erik nodded. "You taught me that all too well."

"We deserve each other, you know." A single tear slipped from the corner of Christine's eye. "We are too much alike – we both manipulate those around us to get what we desire." She turned to look out at the ocean, the pounding of the incoming autumn tide matching the pounding of her broken heart. "I used Raoul because I was afraid of you. I used him to protect me – as my shield – and he knew but he did not care. To know that he saved me would have been enough for Raoul. In the beginning I did not love him as much as he loved me, I am afraid." Christine bit back a sob. "I did come to love him more than he loved me, though; I could not help it! Raoul had a good soul and a generous heart. He had an even disposition and his anger was just as even, just as steady. He was sweet and honest, gentle and patient." The tears were streaming down her cheeks. "He was a good husband, a generous lover and he would have been the best father."

"Tallis is much like that," Erik replied softly, his eyes closing, hearing her laughter in the breezes that blew in from the ocean. "She has a generous heart which she is more than ready to offer to any stray that should come through the kitchen door. She has a laugh that could melt the winter snow and which I do not hear as often as I should like. She is simple and uncomplicated and why she loves me when I am capable of being such a beast is a mystery that I shall never solve." Erik let out a long breath. "Tallis has such a capacity to brighten the world by merely being and I do not understand why she would choose to lavish such a gift upon me. I am not worthy of her."

"I was not worthy of Raoul, either," Christine told him as she turned to look at the man seated beside her. She reached out to touch the marred side of his face, watching as Erik's eyes opened and he melted into the touch of her hand. "But maybe that is the miracle of love – it brings us to those who can lift us up, making us more than we could be on our own."

Erik studied the woman before him, wonder in his eyes. "When did you become so wise?"

"When the world forced it upon me," Christine said, her chin trembling.

Erik drew her into his arms, feeling Christine's head go to his shoulder, her tears dampening his jacket. "Oh, my beloved angel," he whispered softly. "Would that I could take away your pain." Erik turned to look back at the ocean. _"Would that someone could take away mine,"_ he thought.

Beyond the ocean side where Christine sat sobbing into her angel's shoulder, high in the mountains, the man who would forever be the cause of the tears she shed, also conversed with an angel about pain and forgiveness.

"Take away the pain," Raoul whispered to the angel who sat before him.

"_Only you can do that,"_ she replied.

Raoul shook his head. "How?"

The angel gave him a sad little smile as she tilted her head to one side. _"Forgive me."_

"Forgive you?" Raoul's brow knitted in confusion.

"You know that you blame me for what has happened …" 

"No," Raoul shook his head. "No, no, no."

The angel touched a finger to his lips. _"Yes,"_ she insisted, _"you do. You blame me for lying to you about our baby. You blame me for lying about the telegram. You blame me for our argument that sent you riding,"_ the angel held her arms wide, _"and brought you to this place. You blame me for the pain your family is feeling. You blame me for that other man's – Edouard's - death. You blame me for all the pain you are feeling, all the agony to which they have subjected you."_

"No."

"_You think I would have sought the first arms to open to me – even if they belonged to the men who torment you. You think I do not want the child for which we prayed. You think I would do something foolish to rid myself of this baby."_ The angel pursed her lips and turned her head away. _"You think I would run back to Erik the moment I thought you gone."_ The angel hung her head. _"You think me shallow and cruel and fickle."_

"No," Raoul insisted, his tone a bit stronger.

"_How could you?"_ The angel turned back to face him. _"How could you? After everything we have been through – after all our struggles – after I was willing to stay with Erik, to be his wife, to let him touch me and love me so that you would live – how could you? Even after I was willing to walk away so that you would not be disgraced and disowned, even after I would have willingly been your mistress just to keep you with me – how could you? How could you?" _

"I do not blame you!" Raoul was breathing heavily through his nose, feeling his bruised lungs pushing painfully against healing ribs.

"_Raoul,"_ the angel shook her head.

Raoul stared at the angel seated before him for a long moment, feeling something begin to stir deep within the hollow of his soul. It crept upwards through a body speckled with bruises of various colors and in various stages of healing. It stirred aching muscles and caused fingers to curl into fists. It caused a heart to race and brought tears to stricken blue eyes. It pulsed blood to a jumbled mind, increasing the pounding that echoed in the still room. It caused a chin to tremble and lips to frown. "Yes," Raoul finally breathed through clenched teeth.

"_Yes, what?"_ the angel asked him as she raised a silent prayer to Heaven for the answer she sought

"I hate you," Raoul hissed. "This is your fault. This is all your fault! All the pain, every cut, every beating, every burn is all your fault! I was never enough for you! I could never be enough! I could never be strong enough or passionate enough or dangerous enough!" Raoul leaned his head against the wall, turning to stare out the single window at the high, snow-covered peaks of the Alps. "I did not care if there was never a child as long as you were there. All I ever wanted was you and that was not enough for you. Now you have gone and taken my child away and I shall never see you or my baby. I shall never see my family, our friends, my home." Raoul swallowed back his tears. "I shall never sleep in my own bed again. I shall never hold you in the dark as you breathe. I just want to go home." He turned back to the angel, the angry frown reappearing. "And I know that I shall never see home again and it is all your fault! I hate you! God, how I hate you!"

"_What do you remember of Saddell Castle?"_ the angel asked.

"What has that to do with anything?"

"_Do you remember the tale of how they took stones from the ruined abbey to build the castle? Do you remember they say that the castle is cursed and always shrouded in fog because of that action? Do you remember walking down to the sea loch, through the fog, coming out into the bright sun?"_ the angel wondered and reached up her hands to cup Raoul's face. _"Do you remember my telling you that you were the sun that pulled me from the cursed fog that bound me?"_

Raoul closed his eyes against the intensity of the angel's eyes and the unbidden memories she stirred within him. "Yes," he admitted reluctantly.

"_Why would I ever wish to go back to that fog? Why would I ever wish to return to the chains that bound me when I held my freedom in my arms? Why would I do something so foolish when I carry your future safely in the warmth beneath my heart?"_ Gentle fingers brushed away the freely flowing tears. _"You always trusted and believed in me even when I did not or would not. You must trust and believe in me now."_

"What of my chains?" Raoul asked bitterly.

The angel reached took a hand to brush against Raoul's forehead._ "Your chains are in here," _she whispered as she moved her hand to rest over his pounding heart, _"and in here." _She smiled softly at Raoul even though he could not see. _"Your chains are those that you allow those men to have. Do not give them more than they have already taken."_

A choked sob escaped Raoul's lips. "I miss you so much!"

"_And we miss you,"_ the angel wept in return.

Raoul opened his eyes, lifting his head. "I do not hate you. I could never hate you." He opened his arms allowing the angel to settle her head upon his chest, into his embrace. "I cannot survive without you; you are my strength."

"_I shall always be your strength when you cannot find your own,"_ the angel sighed and lifted her head to smile at Raoul. _"That is what angels do."_ She lightly kissed the lips that sought hers. _"We are strength in weakness, hope in despair, faith in doubt,"_ the angel settled her head back above Raoul's heart, _"love in hate."_

"I do love you – God forgive me – but I do love you," Raoul whispered as he placed a kiss on the angel's curls, resting his head against hers. "I shall always love you. Even if I never see you again, I shall love you and carry your love with me."

"_I am always with you for we are one body, one soul, one heart,"_ the angel smiled and placed a kiss over Raoul's heart, _"one love…"_

"One lifetime," Raoul finished, his eyes closing.

"_Faith, hope and love,"_ the angel whispered. _"The greatest trinity of gifts God ever gave mankind."_

It seems that God always sends things in threes.

The Father, Son and Holy Ghost.

Morning, noon and night.

Sea, land and sky.

Birth, life and death.

Faith, hope and love.

Three men in three different places, each – in some way – a victim of what had happened to Raoul, each tormented by their own demons.

One tormented by the demons that had caught him.

One tormented by the demons that chased him.

One tormented by the demons he saw about him.

None of the three were able to see the trinity of gifts – faith, hope and love – that would have saved them from their demons.

One sat silently in the back of a private coach, his demons seated across from him, silent, smiling, knowing they had won their battle.

One sat silently in a cell in a monastery, struggling with his prayers, his conscience, safe from the demons that lurked just beyond sacred ground.

One sat silently in a darkened corner of a quiet café, a bottle of wine untouched before him as he desperately tried to understand the demons he witnessed in the ones he loved.

One chuckled with delight at his demons.

One tried to bury his demons in the words of the monks.

One longed to drown his demons in a bottle of fine burgundy.

Each one of them was torn and tormented. Each one of them was anguished and despairing.

One was torn apart by his madness.

One was tormented by the madness lurking just beyond his reach.

One was anguished by the madness he saw about him - despairing of his ability to stop it or to help those for whom he cared.

Each one of them sought for answers that were not forthcoming.

One thought he had found his answers.

One knew his answers were there but could not face them.

One did not know the answers, much less the questions to ask.

Even the police assigned to solving the mystery surrounding Raoul's abduction and murder were having trouble finding the unknown answers to the questions they knew to ask.

"Where is Inspector Rousseau?" Chief Inspector Robert Pichette bellowed as he strode into the offices of the police in Lyon. He had been questioned all morning regarding the case of the unfortunate Vicomte de Chagny, his interrogators now on their way to the train station and back to Paris – neither side satisfied at the words exchanged.

A young inspector, new to the ranks, raised his head from his desk. "He has not yet come in, sir," he said.

"Was a reason proffered for this sad lack of attendance to duty?" Pichette growled softly.

"No, sir," the young inspector quailed.

"I want him in my office the minute his toes cross the threshold," Pichette ordered. "Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

"Yes, sir," several voices chorused.

"Good," Pichette said simply as he crossed through the desks of the junior ranks, to his own office at the back of the second floor. He opened his door and slammed it shut behind him. Pichette stood silently for a moment, his chest heaving, eyeing the chair waiting for him behind his desk. He wanted nothing more than to take that chair and heave it out the window – the sound of breaking glass and screams from passersby below would ease the tension Pichette could feel beating at the edges of his being. Yet he was a rational man and knew he could not do such a thing – no matter how great the temptation. A knock on his door caused him to whirl on his heel, a sharp retort on his lips quickly fading to a smile. His hand turned the knob. "Inspector Rousseau," he breathed, motioning the other man into the office.

Guy Rousseau took one look at his superior officer and knew something was wrong. "What has happened?"

"Close the door," Pichette said as he moved behind his desk, finally and gratefully sinking into his chair, "and have a seat." He waited until his orders had been followed before continuing. "I have been all morning with a liaison from the Ministry of Justice. He has been questioning our handling – our very competence! – regarding the matter of the Vicomte de Chagny. That this was not a pleasant exchange on either side would be an understatement. They find us provincial and ignorant, only capable of pulling drunks and whores from the gutters. I find them arrogant and pompous, completely unable to respect that we may know what we are doing." He sighed. "Please tell me that we know what we are doing."

"As a matter of fact, sir," Guy began as he pulled a small notebook from his jacket pocket, "I believe we may know what we are doing."

His words greatly interested Pichette and he sat up straighter. "What have you discovered?"

"I was contacted by a young gypsy girl late yesterday as I was leaving. She wished to know if I was aware of the officer dealing with the Vicomte's case. When I replied that I was that officer, she bade me meet her father in the grove just outside of town last evening; I did as she requested."

"Foolhardy," Pichette interrupted, "but necessary."

"Yes, sir," Guy replied as his intelligent eyes turned to the notes he held in his hand. "I met with the Romany named Latco – he gave no second name. He told me that his troupe had recently passed through Grenoble and were on their way to Spain."

"Lyon seems a bit out of the way for that," Pichette commented.

"Yes, sir, I thought so, too; and said as much," Guy agreed. "Latco then proceeded to tell me that he had heard of the money being offered for information regarding a certain matter in which the police were interested. I told him that it depended upon what he had to tell me."

"How much did you pay him?" Pichette wondered, his brows raising at the sum that Rousseau quoted. "What did he have to say that was worth so much?" Pichette asked, his eyes narrowing.

Guy did not need his notes for what he would say next and raised his head. "This Latco told me that he was familiar with a man named Nico Mircea. He said he had come across this Nico at a mercantile while shopping – and I assume that word was used loosely – for supplies. He said Nico remembered him from their days travelling together. Latco said that Nico introduced him to his friend," a smile curled Guy's lips, "Louis Foucault."

"You interest me greatly," Pichette said. "When did this happen? Did either Foucault or Mircea say where they was staying?"

Guy shook his head. "No sir, they did not. Latco said that Louis seemed nervous and extracted – my word – Nico from the reunion as quickly as was decently possible. Latco would not have come to us but he heard of our search from a fellow traveler. That is what caused him to turn around and head for Lyon." A frown crossed Guy's young face.

"What is it?" Pichette asked.

"It is just that …" Guy hesitated for a moment before continuing, "it is just that Latco said this Mircea follow is a bit off in the head and he considers him dangerous."

Pichette leaned back in his chair. "It would seem that we have found another of our missing pieces." He grimaced. "The one who inflicted such terrible agony upon the Vicomte." He turned his head to gaze at the map hanging on the wall beside his desk. "Grenoble is a fairly good-sized city with many villages in the mountains." He turned back to Guy. "We shall have our work cut out for us." Pichette managed a small grin. "We leave in the morning."

Guy returned the grin. "I am already packed, sir."


	49. Chapter 49

**Chapter Summary:** Meg and Val talk in the aftermath of their anniversary party. Henri returns to Chagny and gives Philippe vague, disturbing answers. Xavier and Monique argue over Philippe, bringing forth old doubts and insecurities. Didier overhears them and confronts his own doubts in a most unique manner ...

CHAPTER FORTY NINE

The furniture in the small parlor had been pushed back to the walls, the fine Persian carpet rolled up and taken away to reveal the gleaming wood floor beneath. Heavy velvet draperies had been pulled back to reveal the glistening autumn night outside, the still warm air allowing for the French doors to be opened letting the merry sound of a fountain to filter inwards. A small dining table had been setup near the hearth, fine china gleaming atop creamy table linen. Crystal goblets winked back at the candles glowing in sconces, the small fire dancing in the fireplace. Warm gold and orange marigolds stood alongside deep rich burgundy mums and the last of the summer's white roses in a round silver bowl, mimicking the bridal bouquet that had been carried one year previous. Eight empty chairs sat around the table, servants scurrying about clearing the aftermath of the celebration held that evening. And on a silk-covered sofa along the wall, a young couple sat quietly, entwined together, basking in the warm glow that still lingered about the room.

"It was a lovely party," Meg sighed as she nestled herself into her husband's side, her arms going about his waist. She raised her head seeking and finding a kiss. "Thank you," she told him as she settled her head to his shoulder.

"It really was quite lovely," Val agreed, one hand gently tracing a circle on his wife's back. "I am glad that we did not have a huge party; it would not have seemed right somehow."

"People were missing," Meg said softly.

"They were," Val said, his free hand taking one of Meg's and intertwining their fingers. "If I never told you, I am glad you introduced me to Christine and Raoul; I grew to like them very much."

"And they liked you," Meg assured him. "Christine often told me so." Meg gave herself a mental shake to chase away the sorrow that beat lightly against her heart. "I was glad your sister and her husband could come tonight," she told Val, changing the subject.

Val chuckled lightly. "I wonder what my mother would have said to that! The fact that Natalya and Serge actually dared to cross the threshold of this house – much less have a pleasant evening wherein they enjoyed themselves. And with your family! And the daughter of the family retainer! Oh – the scandal!"

Now it was Meg's turn to chuckle. "And do not forget Monsieur Chalmers, your favorite professor or Serge's cousin, Alexander."

"It was a rather eclectic group who gathered to celebrate our anniversary."

Meg sat quietly for a few minutes, content to feel the pulse that beat beneath her cheek. She was also lost in thought, having taken careful observation of those who had been in attendance that evening. "I think Maman found Monsieur Chalmers very interesting," she began. "I think it was a wise choice to have him as her dinner partner; they found a great many things about which to speak."

"You do not think she minded, do you?" Val worried, not wishing to antagonize his rather formidable mother-in-law.

"I think she was glad of it," Meg admitted. "Maman has said that she grows tired of all the intrigue in the lives of the young people about her. I think she was grateful to have someone nearer her own age here this evening. I hope they can become friends."

"It was my intention," Val told his wife.

Meg sat up so that she could look her husband in the eye. "And was it your intention to invite Alexander as merely Serge's cousin or as a dinner partner for Tallis?" Meg pulled a slight frown. "Do not try to sweet talk your way around this one."

"And if I said that I invited him as a dinner partner for Tallis, would you be terribly angry with me?"

"Oh, Val," Meg sighed, her tone one of resignation.

Val shook his head. "She deserves better," he said simply.

"She deserves what her heart desires," Meg replied. "You and I know that better than just about anyone else." A finger reached up to brush away a stray tear.

"Meg, darling," Val said as he took that finger and kissed it. "I know that she loves him for she has told me as much. Yet, he continues to go back and forth between her and Christine, seeking for something I am not even sure he knows. If he would just slow down for a moment, I know he would find it before him." Val paused, averting his eyes.

"But," Meg encouraged him.

Val turned back to gaze into his wife's bright, intelligent eyes. "But I will not stand by and watch as Tallis has her heart broken. She has always seen the possibilities of the wider world about her. She has never been able to merely just settle; she has always wanted more. I wanted to show her that there was more. I just wanted to show Tallis that there were other men out there who would find her attractive. Christine married Raoul. You married me. I needed to remind Tallis that there were great dreams still to be fulfilled. And Alexander did find her attractive and witty; he told me so."

"But what about Erik? What about his feelings toward Tallis?"

"I wish I could shake him until he saw reason," Val replied. "I wish I could take that brilliant and talented brain he possesses and scramble it until he saw what was real and what was truth and not what was fantastical and lies. I wish I could give him a heart that was whole and healthy so he could love Tallis in the way she deserves." Val shook his head. "Yet I cannot do any of that; that is something Erik must do." A slight grin curled his lips. "And if by introducing Tallis to other men who may find her desirable, it nudges Erik to do the right thing …" Val shrugged.

Meg studied her husband before lightly smacking him on the shoulder. "You are playing with fire, you realize."

"Yes, Val told her, "but what else would you have me do?"

"I do not know," Meg had to admit. "Do you really think he is brilliant and talented?"

Val took his wife's hands. "Yes, I do." He raised each hand to his lips, kissing them in turn. "From whom do you think your anniversary present came?"

"He wrote that?" Meg was amazed. "For me? Did you ask him to do that?"

"I did," Val smiled at her. "You liked it, I can tell."

"I did, I did," Meg enthused.

"I should pay him to write more music."

Meg smiled brightly. "It would give him a way to feel useful and needed. Then, perhaps, he could finally realize what Tallis brings to him, settle down and live a normal life."

"My little ballet rat," Val whispered, "ever the optimist." He stared into Meg's eyes, drawing her into his soul. "It is one of the things I love best about you." He leaned forward, placing a gentle kiss against Meg's lips. "Happy Anniversary."

"Thank you for my music," Meg whispered back.

"Shall we go find our own music?" Val asked.

Meg wrapped her arms about her husband's neck. "Yes, please," she replied as Val stood, sweeping her into his arms. "I love you."

Val could find no words as he carried his wife from the room.

And in another room in the south of France, Henri de Chagny carried what felt like the weight of the world upon his shoulders. He paced steadily back and forth across the large parlor, seeing nothing in the room about him, nothing of his family's proud heritage. Henri's gaze was focused upon something no one could see but him, something that was slowly tearing him apart from the inside. He could see it but could not hold to it. He knew it was of importance but had seen too many things after too many drinking binges to know what was true and what was false any longer. He longed to burrow his fingers through his skull and pull the vision from his head. In his darkest moments, Henri contemplated throwing himself from a second story balcony but he was too afraid – too afraid to try and fail, too afraid to try and succeed.

"I thought you were with your parents," a voice caught Henri's attention and he paused in his pacing to look up.

Philippe stood in doorway of the room, a rather shadowy figure highlighted from the back by the gas lamps of the downstairs hallway.

"Oh God," Henri breathed and turned away from the sight, sinking onto a loveseat.

Philippe was seated next to him a second later. "What is wrong?" he wondered, his voice full of concern.

"For just a moment I thought … I saw …" Henri shook his head. "I wish I could tell you," he said in a choked voice, raising his head to look at his cousin, "but I do not know what is wrong with me!"

Philippe studied the young face before him, the face that bore such a strong family resemblance to his brother's. Henri had the same blue eyes, the same long brown hair, the sharply refined features that marked their ancestry softened somewhat over the years by the English bloodline. In the face before him Philippe could see sleepless nights in the dark circles under the eyes, uncertainty in the worry lines growing at the edges of lips, fear in the haunted depths of pale blue eyes. Philippe's brow furrowed in concern and he laid a hand on Henri's shoulder and could feel the muscles trembling beneath his hand. "Henri," Philippe began, "you must tell me what is wrong! Why are you still here? Why did you not return to your parents? Where have you been?"

Henri drew a deep, shuddering breath. "I am going insane. Because I have nowhere else to go. Because I do not wish to be clapped up in Bedlam. And I cannot tell you."

"That makes no sense," Philippe replied as he withdrew his hand.

Henri rose to his feet and began to pace again. "Do you think I do not know that? I know what the words I speak sound like. I know that I sound like a complete and utter imbecile."

Philippe, too, rose to his feet and reached for his young cousin's arm, causing Henri to pause in his nervous pacing. "You do sound like you are an imbecile," he agreed, "but I think there is more going on here than you wish to say. And I am afraid that I am going to have to insist that you at least tell me something that will not cause me to clap you up in irons and send you back to your parents." Philippe gestured at the love seat, lightly tugging on Henri's sleeve. "Sit and talk," he ordered.

Henri did as he was told, resuming a seat beside Philippe.

"Now, you will start talking," Philippe told him, "and I shall sit quietly and listen."

Henri swallowed hard several times, placing his hands on his knees so that open palms faced upwards. He looked down at those empty hands and spoke to them. "I am afraid that I am losing my mind." A crooked smile crossed his face. "I know that I have often been a disgrace to our family and I think this might be a punishment. I thought it had gone away for a time after Didier and I talked but it has come back. It has come back and refuses to leave me alone. At first I only saw it in my sleep but now I see it when I am awake. It haunts me morning, noon and night. I can find no sanctuary from it."

"Is this why you have been disappearing without word?"

Henri nodded his head.

Philippe's lips were set into a grim line. "Can you tell me what it is you are seeing?"

"A vision from God," came the softly spoken reply.

"Pardon?"

Henri turned his head slightly so that he could look at Philippe from the corner of his eye. "You heard me."

"I heard you. I just do not understand!"

"Do you think I do?" Henri sighed and slumped backwards in the loveseat. "I want to understand! I do! I just do not know where to begin!"

"You will begin by going upstairs to your rooms and having a hot bath," Philippe told him. "I will have a tray sent up from the kitchen and you will have something to eat. You will also refrain from any alcohol of any kind. Tomorrow you will write to your parents; I shall leave it to you as to how much you tell them but you must tell them something. I shall do what I can for you but you must begin by helping yourself." Philippe rose to his feet. "I hope you take heed of my words," he warned Henri, "for I am closing this house within the month and returning to Paris. And whether you believe it or not, I should like you to join me there for the winter season."

"I shall do as you ask," Henri told Philippe, his tone of voice dejected and resigned.

Philippe leaned over and tapped Henri on the knee. "A more cheerful face would be appreciated. I do not think you will find me that awful of host; I have not forgotten everything regarding the social life of Paris after these years in the country. And I have asked Monique to inquire as to whether or not their family would like to join us. I think we should be a merry troupe." Philippe's tone grew soft. "It is time to let go of the ghosts that haunt us, Henri. It is time to begin living again. Raoul would want us to do so."

"I know." Henri nodded his head. "I know. I know you are correct."

"Get a hot bath, some hot food and a good night's sleep and we shall speak more in the morning," Philippe said. "I may even request your advice on seeking a wife."

Henri placed an arm over his head. "Whatever you require, Philippe," he said, listening to his cousin's retreating footsteps, the opening and closing of the parlor door. Suddenly Henri sat bolt upright, Philippe's final sentence reaching through the confused fog in his mind. "What are you going to do?"

"He is going to do what?" Xavier exclaimed.

"Philippe is closing up Chagny and returning to Paris with the full intention of finding a suitable young woman to marry," Monique repeated for the man seated at the opposite end of the table. She raised a napkin to her lips before placing it discreetly beside her plate. "I thought it was perfectly clear."

"What is he thinking?"

"What is he thinking?" Monique could not hide the hint of disgust in her voice. "I think Philippe is returning to the world of the living. I think Philippe is thinking of what he lost when Raoul was murdered and Christine disappeared. I think Philippe is thinking of what he owes to his family and his heritage. And I think Philippe is still young enough and vital enough to find a suitable wife among all the eligible young women of his set. He is titled and very wealthy and a gentleman. He would be considered a good catch," Monique frowned at her husband, "even at his age. And that is what I think Philippe is thinking."

"But what about waiting to see if we can locate Christine and convince her to come home?" Xavier asked.

Monique was tempted to roll her eyes. "Do you truly believe such a thing is going to happen? You went to Perros, you have been to Paris and there is no sign of Christine. Be realistic, Xavier; she could be anywhere! With the money that Raoul gave her, she could easily travel halfway around the world and begin her life all over again!" Monique shook her head. "She is terrified of losing her child and does not realize that Philippe would never have allowed such a thing to happen. I doubt Christine will ever return and if she does it will not be until her child is grown and able to speak its own mind." She raised an eyebrow and tilted her head. "And would you trust your family's future to Henri?"

"Philippe could groom Henri," Xavier groused.

"What is wrong with Philippe?" Monique nearly shouted. "What is wrong with you? Your best friend is taking the first steps toward resuming his life and you are acting as if Philippe is committing a heinous act! You should be rejoicing that he has begun to emerge from his grief and supporting his efforts instead of wondering why he is not grooming Henri!"

Xavier rose to his feet. "I am worried about Philippe!"

Monique, too, rose to her feet. "As am I; yet you have a strange way of showing your concern!"

"I do not want my best friend thinking that he has to marry just to secure his family's future!" Xavier shot back. "If Philippe is to marry, I would prefer that he marry for the same reason he allowed Raoul to marry – for love!" His voice grew soft for a moment. "I thought that was why we married." Xavier narrowed his eyes at his wife. "Is that the answer you were seeking?"

The anger Monique had been feeling quickly fled and she moved down the long table to her husband's side, placing a gentle hand on his arm. "I am sorry," she told Xavier gently, "but you have not been here. You do not know the emotional turmoil Philippe has been suffering. It is slowly killing his heart to know that Christine will never return, that he will never get to see Raoul's child or hold it in his arms. Because of that knowledge, he would prefer that we stop looking for her. Now Philippe only wishes to do the right thing by his family, by his brother's memory. Do not be so hard on him."

Xavier lowered his head so that he was looking at the table and not at his wife. "I do not mean to be hard on him. I just … I just …" Xavier frowned. "I just do want him to rush into anything. I do not want him to be simply the latest, most eligible bachelor." Xavier finally raised his head to look at his wife. "I want more than that for Philippe. I just wish he would give himself a bit more time, let his grief fade a bit more, allow himself time to think clearly before he ends up in a relationship that will break his heart."

Monique studied her husband for a moment, the down-turned mouth, the glittering anger in his eyes. "Have I broken your heart?" she wondered softly. "Do you regret marrying me?"

"You break my heart every single day," Xavier told her, "and I worry more about your regrets than I do mine for I know I was not your first choice."

"I left my regrets behind years ago," Monique lied, hoping against hope that her husband would not know she lied and then it was time for a painful truth. "And you may not have been my first choice," she admitted, "but you were the choice that I made." Her fingers encircled the arm upon which they rested. "I could have said 'no' when my father approached me with your proposal but I did not. I chose you and you were never second best. Do you truly think I would have accepted anything less than the best that was offered to me?"

"In spite of everything?" Xavier wondered, his words hanging potent in the air between them.

Monique swallowed back the second biggest regret of her life. "In spite of everything," she told him. "You are my husband and I shall always defer to your judgment."

"Even if you do not like it or approve of it."

"Even then," Monique nodded and sighed. "Has our marriage been so awful for you?" There was no answer. "I have been happy these years. I have enjoyed being married to you. I have been content to be your wife and I shall be content to be your wife until the day I die." Her fingers tightened. "Xavier, please," she pleaded with him, "say something! Do not make me beg for your love! Please!"

A single hand covered Monique's. "You have always had my love," Xavier whispered before turning and drawing his wife into his embrace. "Any trouble that may have arisen in our marriage has been due to my doubts, my fears, my regrets." He managed to find the strength to curl the edges of lips into what might have passed for a smile. "Our problems have never – ever! – been about you. Ever! I hope you know that."

Monique's bottom lip trembled. "I know that but there are times when … when the old doubts, the old fears return and …"

Xavier cut her words off by placing a finger against her lips. "Please do not make me regret past decisions any more than I all ready do."

Monique drew her husband into her arms, turning her head and placing a kiss against his cheek, resting her head on his shoulder. "I would never willingly cause you any pain," she breathed into his ear. "I am happy with our lives, with Didier. The time to make changes has long since come and gone and we must be content with who we are now, with what we have now."

"As long as you are content," Xavier began as he laid his head against his wife's, tightening his hold about her waist, "than I shall be happy." He shook his head. "But can you understand why I would want more for Philippe? Why I do not wish him to plunge headlong into anything, to make any rash decisions? There is time for everything!"

"There is time for everything," Monique agreed, biting back the response on her lips as she had done for so many years. She drew back slightly from her husband's arms so that she could look him in the face. "I doubt you will be able to change Philippe's mind, though; you know what he is like once he has made a decision."

"That damned Chagny stubbornness," Xavier muttered. "Well, you and I shall just have to see what we can do about changing his mind. We are his best friends and we must protect his interests even when he will not."

Monique nodded her agreement. "You are correct, of course; we must most assuredly watch for Philippe's interests," she told Xavier even as she knew she would do whatever was required to place a smile back on Philippe's face – no matter the cost to any tattered dreams to which she still held.

A puzzled look crossed Xavier's face. "Why were we fighting?" he asked in a silly tone.

"I do not know," Monique responded, her expression one of innocent confusion.

Xavier took her hand and raised it to his lips, "Shall we retire to the small parlor and I can read to you before the fire."

"I should like that," Monique told him.

They crossed the room, hand-in-hand, Xavier opening the door for his wife. Neither of them aware that there had been a third party to their conversation, a third party who had quickly retreated for the main staircase as their footsteps began to approach the door.

Didier watched his cousins move toward the small front parlor, his figure hidden in the shadows of the staircase where the gaslight did not reach. He had returned to Cote de Vallee only moments before and had been about to join Xavier and Monique when he had heard their upraised voices through the door to the dining room. Didier had stood there listening to their voices reach through the door, his anger growing by the moment. He had been ready to barge through that door, declaring his presence and stating what he knew, his anger replaced by fear at the sound of the footsteps. Now he stood near the top of the main staircase, hidden in the shadows, hesitating, dithering, unsure of what to do or where to start.

A barely controlled cry of anguish escaped Didier's lips as he burst from his shadowed hiding place, running up the remaining stairs and down the hallway to his rooms. He flung the door open, standing in the doorway, one hand holding to the door, one to the jam, his breath coming ragged and uneven. A strange look passed over Didier's face and he stepped into his room, his movements measured and even. He turned easily on his heel and silently shut the door to his room, turning the key in the lock. He walked across the room, dropping the key on the top of the bureau, moving to one of the long French windows, opening it and inhaling deeply of the autumn air scented with the start of the dying of the year.

"Tell," Didier whispered into the night, "or not tell. Keep silent and remain safe. Say the words and ruin everything." He listened as his words drifted away, a grimace marring his handsome features. "No answers," he whispered. "No answers," he repeated more loudly, slamming the windows closed in a strange punctuation.

Didier crossed to his bed, sitting on the edge. He stared blankly into the darkness of his room, a strange glaze in his eyes, his bottom lip being worried between his teeth. Didier's elegant fingers plucked at the bed covering, first one hand and then the next, in a rhythm that matched the pulse pounding in his temple. From a great distance away, the young man could hear voices. Didier listened as they called to him, from his past, from his present, from his future. He listened as they grew closer and closer, their words growing audible, their meaning clearer. He clapped his hands over his ears to try and block out the words he had been hearing all his life.

"Stop, stop, stop!" he hissed.

When the voices did not stop their speech, Didier withdrew his hands, reaching below his shirt collar and pulling out a key on a long chain. He opened the drawer of his beside table and withdrew a small box into which he easily slipped the key. The box flipped open and Didier reached in and withdrew a bottle containing a clear fluid. He shook it and watched as the sediment in the bottom twirled around, disappearing into the fluid.

Didier's voice was a hollow echo in the darkening room. "A mere pinch to make someone ill. A slightly larger dose to disorient." He shook the bottle. "A normal dose to sleep." He stared at the bottle for another moment. "The whole to bring the welcome release of death." 

Didier unstoppered the bottle and swallowed.

Three men in three different places, each tormented by their own demons.


	50. Chapter 50

**Chapter Summary:** Henri continues to be pursued by his demons. A small event that begins in the middle of the night finally chases away Christine's demons. Tallis finds amusement in Val's brother-in-law, Serge. Erik finds longed-for words slipping from his lips in the heat of anger. And something that she sees in Erik's eyes forces Tallis to make a decision.

CHAPTER FIFTY

It was still dark when he rose, dressed and exited silently from his room. He knew the back ways through the great house having explored each of them as a child. He moved quietly down a long unused staircase, now only trod upon when the staff cleaned it once a month. He slipped quietly through a side door and out into the cool autumn morning. He spared one last backward glance at the still sleeping house before beginning to walk across the dew-covered grass. His walk began slowly as remnants of sleep fled from his mind, the pace picking up as the clarity of wakefulness took over and he was able to hear the howling of his demons in the distant reaches of his mind. He ran across the grounds pursued by images he could not have imagined nor understood …

"_I simply do not understand," Raoul said, a frown creasing his handsome features._

"_Of course you do not understand," Henri replied as he glanced in a mirror and straightened his tie, "you are perfect. You have no fears and worries or doubts."_

"_Now that is just not true!" Raoul insisted._

_Henri turned to face his cousin. "Of course it is true!" Henri was just as insistent as he waved a hand in Raoul's direction. "Look at you! You are everything every generation of our family has longed to produce – you are handsome and educated, polite, honest …"_

_Raoul sighed and rolled his eyes. "I wish you would not start, as well!" he interrupted. "I do not sit well on that damn pedestal everyone in this family wishes to place me upon. I have my flaws and my shortcomings as well as the next person."_

"_Where?" Henri wondered, staring at his cousin and waiting for an answer._

"_Well … um …" Raoul stuttered._

_Henri laughed and shook his head. "You had best learn to like it upon that pedestal! I have a feeling you are going to be upon it for a great long while!"_

_Raoul frowned and sat upon the edge of an armchair. "I should just go and pick up the prettiest chorus girl I can find this evening and marry her just to prove I can be as flawed as the next person."_

"_Please!" Henri exclaimed. "You know you are going to marry a fairy."_

_Raoul grew serious. "That dream went the way of long afternoons at the swimming hole and summers in Perros."_

_Henri, too, grew serious. "I am sorry," he said softly. "I know her memory still hurts." He sighed and shrugged. "You see what it is I speak about? I have not yet had even one drink this evening and all ready my tongue runs away with me."_

_Raoul rose to his feet, crossing to lay a friendly hand on his cousin's shoulder. "If it was anyone else," he began, "I would be hurt. But you are the only person who knows how much that memory truly means to me and you have never told." Raoul lowered his voice. "Just as I would never tell the secrets you share with me."_

_There was a long moment of silence between the two cousins._

"_Now," Raoul said in a more cheerful tone, "let us forget all this talk of not understanding, fears and doubts, perfection and pedestals and fairies and go out for a night on the town."_

_Henri perked up. "Can I have the first choice of chorus girls this evening?"_

"_Just this once," Raoul said with a wink …_

Henri sagged against the corner of his cousin's tomb, out of breath, sliding down the cold stone till he was on his knees, the cool earth beneath. Henri opened wide his arms and placed them on either side of the corner he leaned against, almost as if he were hugging the tomb. "What am I going to do?" he whispered. "Dear God in Heaven, Raoul, what am I going to do?"

There was no answer and Henri closed his eyes and leaned his head against the stones.

"I keep seeing it, you know," he began softly. "It is always there, like some kind of accusing finger. It is like you are telling me you know what I tried to do with Christine and now you are going to punish me for my actions." Henri shook his head. "I did not mean it, you know; I would never have hurt either of you like that. It was the wine. It has always been the wine – too much wine for too many years. Too many years of trying to live up to the example that you set." Henri's knees began to shake. "I could never be you as much as I wished to be; I could never be you. I could never be good and honest. I could never have a woman like Christine to love me as she loved you."

Henri's face crumpled as he sank to all fours. Limbs gave out as Henri fell to his elbows, the muscles in his thighs yielding, bending so that they rested atop his calves. Henri broke into deep sobs as his forehead fell to the damp earth and there he stayed for several minutes, a human beetle, as he cried out his grief, guilt and fears. Slowly his sobs lessened and Henri returned to his knees, turning and sitting so that his back rested against the stones of Raoul's tomb. Henri placed his arms on upraised knees and clasped his hands together, the tears now falling silently down his cheeks.

"I wish you could tell me what you want with me," he said. "I wish you could tell me why I keep seeing the cross you wore" Henri raised his eyes to the dawn that was slowly beginning to creep over the mountaintops. "If you wanted to haunt me, to punish me, you could not have chosen a better way. It is bad enough to know that you are gone forever and will never be able to help me out of my own way again," He closed his eyes in pain. "But must even your spirit remind me that I shall never get to Heaven?" Henri bent his head over to rest on his clasped hands. "What am I to do? Please tell me what I am to do!"

There was no answer forthcoming from the cool autumn morning. After listening to the silence for several moments, Henri lifted his head, unclasped his hands and reached into his jacket pocket, pulling forth a silver flask. He unstoppered it and inhaled the slightly earthy aroma rising from within the flask's dark depth. He raised it to his lips and drank deeply, coughing slightly as he lowered the flask.

"Whiskey is a bit stronger than wine," Henri said, staring at the flask. "It helps to chase away the visions more quickly." He leaned his head back against the tomb, hearing his cousin's voice in his head. "I know I should not do this. I know. I know I know," his voice trailed off. "Yet I do not know what else to do! I cannot say anything because I do not even know if what I am seeing is true or just your ghost tormenting me." Henri reached a single hand up to swipe at his eyes. "What if I were to say what I know and destroy innocent lives because I thought I saw something that does not exist?

Another swig of the whiskey. Another cough.

"There has been too much loss, too much destruction," Henri said softly with a shake of his head. "I cannot bring anymore forth. I just … cannot." He took another drink from the flask he held. "I am a coward, Raoul; forgive me. Please forgive me." Henri raised the flask to his lips and downed what remained inside in the space of one breath. He closed his eyes and allowed the flask to fall from his hands, making no sound as it hit the grass. Henri let out a long breath and choked as the frightened, haunted sobs returned. He placed his hands over his face and did not try to fight them.

Christine, too, did not try to fight the tears that all too easily flowed down her cheeks as she cried over the man whose memory wrenched such pain from Henri's soul. Yet while Christine's tears were still pained, they were no longer angry or despairing. They were tears that cleansed the dark spots from memory, wiped the dirt from the windows to the soul. They were tears of relief that brought forth grace and mercy, forgiveness flooding a heart full to bursting. They were tears of healing and hope and promise. They were tears of bittersweet happiness that caused Christine to smile in their midst.

She stood at the window of her bedroom, staring at the ocean in the distance, a single hand tracing gentle circles over her child. "Oh Raoul," she whispered softly and sniffled. "I wish you could be here …" Christine's voice trailed off as her mind wandered back over the last few days, the small event that had set in motion the rain of mercy and forgiveness in which she now found herself washed.

It had begun simply enough, a small rolling sensation in the middle of the night. She had thought nothing of it, placing it down to indigestion from the late dinner she had eaten. She had chosen to ignore it, rolling over instead and returning back to a sleep full of images from a life lost. Her dreams that night had been gentler, less vivid than those of the previous months. She had dreamt of warmth and light, strong arms and musical laughter. She had awakened in the morning feeling refreshed with a sense of peace slowly creeping outwards from the cracks that widened in the melting ice of her heart and soul. The little rolling, fluttering sensation had returned that afternoon as she had climbed the winding pathway up from the beach. A frown had crossed her face as she paused halfway up the path, unable to place the new sensation, worrying it was something wrong, something that presaged trouble looming forth. She had resumed walking, picking up her pace as she began to panic, anxious to get back to the safety of her home.

And then she stopped as she reached the top of the cliff as the little rolling, fluttering sensation once again demanded her attention. Her eyes had grown wide as her mind finally realized what was happening. She had turned to look back over the ocean that glittered in the afternoon sun, both hands going over her child as the tears began to fall. "It is real," she kept whispering. "It is real."

Christine sighed as the little butterfly returned, pulling her attention from the window and her memories. She looked down at her rounded middle and smiled. "How I wish your father were here," she said softly to her child. "He would smile and laugh when I told him. Then he would lean over and kiss you and tell you that he loved you." Her eyes closed briefly. "And that he loved me." Trembling hands reached up to brush away tears and Christine opened her eyes, a smile gracing her lips. "He still loves us. I know that now."

The gentle smile remained on Christine's face as she left her bedroom and went to the kitchen on the first floor of her leased home. She stood in the doorway for a moment, looking at the bright light streaming in from the windows, the hand-tatted lace on the table, the simple pottery. Christine could smell bread warming on the hearth and she could hear Marie humming as she did something at one of the work surfaces. "Home," Christine breathed. "Safe, warm, comfortable home."

Marie turned around at the sound of those softly breathed words. "Good morning," she began and a puzzled look crossed her face. "What?" she wondered.

Christine walked into the kitchen and over to the wood stove, picking up the tea towel before she picked up the teapot and poured water over the full strainer that rested on the rim of a cup. "What … what?" she repeated.

"There is something different about you." Marie placed her hands on her hips. "I am not quite sure what it is but there is definitely something different."

"There is," Christine said as she turned to face Marie. "But I cannot tell you what it is just yet." She shook her head as Marie opened her mouth. "It is nothing that need not worry you and for now I would like it to remain my secret."

Marie studied Christine - her glowing eyes, the smile that refused to be curtailed and a thought began to grow in the back of her mind. Marie smiled inwardly and kept her thought to herself. "If you insist," she said. "But I am glad to see you looking truly happy again."

"I am truly happy," Christine said softly. "It is a strange, sad happiness for I should be sharing it with …" Christine turned her head for moment, composing her emotions and turned back to look at Marie. "Tomorrow would have been Raoul's birthday and I would like to venture into the city. I want to go to the cathedral and light a candle for him."

Marie waved a hand. "Do not worry over it. I shall go down to the fishing village later today and hire a coach and driver for tomorrow."

"I should be doing that."

"No," Marie was insistent. "I will do it and I will see what the catch is this day; perhaps there will be something special and we can celebrate this thing that has returned the smile to your face. You will stay here and," she could not help but smile, "enjoy your secret."

The little butterfly returned and Christine sighed, closing her eyes. "I should like that."

"I should like that," Tallis said to the young man with blonde curly hair who stood with her in the parlor at Madame Giry's home.

Serge von Theissen-Koenig smiled warmly at the young woman before him, taking her hand in his own, raising it to his lips as he clicked his heels together. His blue eyes sparkled merrily as Tallis laughed. "What, pray tell, fraulein, brings such a merry sound to your lips?"

Tallis had the good sense to blush. "I am sorry."

"Please," Serge pressed her, "I wish to know so that I may do it again."

Tallis looked at him and saw no guile in those warm, blue eyes and she gave Serge a sweet smile. "Please do not think me backward or ignorant …"

"Never!" Serge proclaimed as he laid a hand over his heart. "I am not such a poor creature as that!"

"But I found it very," Tallis lowered her eyes and looked at Serge from beneath her lashes, "amusing that you clicked your heels together." She momentarily caught her bottom lip between her teeth. "I do not think anyone has ever saluted me in such a manner. I do not think I have ever been saluted before … ever!"

Serge sighed and pulled at a blonde curl. "Ah, it is the German manners my father drilled into me. He was a stern disciplinarian who insisted on proper behavior at all times." He leaned forward from the waist, lowering his voice so that the moment became intimate. "If we did not click our heels in salute when we addressed him, he would click his tongue and we would spend the rest of the day clicking our heels together. It became quite painful, I assure you."

Tallis joined his laughter. "Thank you for not finding me too backward for saying what I did," she finally said as the laughter died down.

"Such things are for the generation of our parents and those who have gone before," Serge told her. "A new century is coming and things will change and we must change with them." He smiled warmly at her. "Where better to start than by breaking down the barriers set in place by those generations?"

The blush returned to Tallis' cheeks as she studied her toes.

"I shall make the arrangements and you need worry for nothing," he assured her.

"Thank you," Tallis told him as she extended her hand, finding it once again raised to Serge's lips.

"I shall see myself out," he told her. "Till later, fraulein," he finished and turned smartly on his heel, leaving the room.

Tallis turned to the woman who sat silently in a chair by the window, chaperoning the scene that had unfolded before her. "Well," Tallis said rather weakly.

"Well, indeed," Antoinette told her with a solemn expression.

"What is the matter?" Tallis worried. "Did I do something wrong?"

Antoinette rose to her feet. "I suggest you ask the man standing behind you," she said as she crossed the room, laying a hand on Tallis' arm before walking to the door and repeating the action on Erik's tense arm. "I do not wish to see this," she finished and disappeared down the hall, her footsteps echoing as they climbed the stairs.

Tallis slowly turned around to see Erik standing the doorway to the parlor, his hand slowly closing the door, the look on his face decidedly unpleasant. Tallis ran over to him and placed her arms about his neck, kissing his marred cheek. "When did you get back?" she wondered, worried that she had not received a response to her actions.

"Obviously not soon enough," Erik muttered as he extracted himself from her embrace. He walked across the parlor floor and plopped down on the sofa, glaring at the woman standing on the other side of the room.

"How was Christine?" Tallis asked. "Has she forgiven you yet?"

"That is none of your business," Erik replied, his tone harsh in its evenness. "Who was that man?"

Tallis crossed her arms over her waist. "That is none of your business," she told him; two could play at that game.

Erik folded his hands in his lap. "For a woman who protested loudly that she was nothing like Christine, you certainly seem to be following in her footsteps. He is as perfect as the Vicomte and he seems to be as taken with you as you are with him." Erik glowered at Tallis. "What were you planning on doing with him – eloping, perhaps?"

Tallis glowered right back at Erik as she breathed through her nose, feeling her heart race with emotion. "Perhaps," she replied softly, "at least Herr Count von Theissen-Koenig …"

"And a member of the nobility, as well," Erik interrupted her. "How very like that woman you despise and pity."

"Are you going to throw every word I have ever spoken to you back in my face?"

"As a matter of fact, I am," Erik replied calmly. "As long as you continue to feel free to share your emotions with every," Erik slowly rose to his feet, "handsome, available man who piques your interest …"

"How dare you speak to me like that!" Tallis spat out. "I have done nothing wrong!"

"That is not what I observed!"

"What do you know about it?" Tallis cried.

"I know that you are the second woman in my life who has lied to me and used me for her own purposes!" Erik's voice was raised in anger. "You are no better than Christine once was!"

"That is all it needed," Tallis said softly and turned her back on the room, opening the closed door. She would never set foot out the door. Tallis found herself grabbed the shoulders and whirled around.

"Do not ever turn your back on me!" Erik shouted. "Do not ever walk out on me!"

"You are not my family," Tallis shouted back, feeling herself shaken by the strong hands gripping her arms. "You have no right to tell me how to behave or who I can see!"

"I am the man who loves you!" Erik told her. "I have every right!"

"You have no right to anything!" Tallis shouted, her anger preventing her from hearing the words that had slipped from Erik's lips. She pulled back from the man who was shaking her, twisting away, her feet stumbling over each other, sending her falling forward, face first into the edge of the door.

"Tallis!" Erik cried out as she crumpled to the floor. He was at her side in an instant, turning her gently over, his heart going to this throat as he saw the cut over her brow beginning to swell. "Oh God," he breathed. "What have I done?"

Two hands raised themselves to weakly push at him. "Let me be," Tallis whispered, her words slightly slurred.

Erik gathered Tallis into his arms and rose in one fluid movement. He crossed the room and placed her gently down on the sofa, slipping a pillow under her head. "Stay still," he ordered as he rose and went to the decanters on a nearby sideboard. He pulled a handkerchief from a pocket, pouring water over it and returned to the sofa where Tallis was trying to push herself into a sitting position. "I said lay still," Erik ordered as he sat by her side, taking the wet linen and wiping at her cut. Erik continued to wipe at Tallis' forehead and he saw the tears running down her cheeks. "I am so sorry," he said as he stopped his actions. "I do not deserve it but can you ever forgive me?"

"What did you say?" Tallis asked him.

A puzzled look crossed Erik's face. "Are you certain you are not injured? I just asked you to forgive me."

Tallis opened her closed eyes. "No; before that. What did you say?"

A crooked smile crossed Erik's lips as he realized what she was asking. "That I was the man who loved you," he whispered.

"That's what I thought you said," Tallis sighed, a smile of satisfaction crossing her lips. She reached her hands to Erik. "Help me to sit, please."

"Are you sure?" he worried.

Tallis nodded and allowed Erik to raise her to a sitting position. "I have had worse tumbles in my life. This is nothing."

Erik lowered his head. "It does not feel like 'nothing' to me."

"You are not going to be the one with a headache for the rest of the day," Tallis told him.

"My heart aches," Erik said softly.

Tallis managed a bright smile for him. "But mine no longer does." She bit back the cry on her lips. "You love me!"

Erik winced as he looked at the bruise forming under the lump above her brow. "And look what my love has done to you."

"But you love me!" Tallis nearly chirped.

Erik let out a long breath. "I do love you," he admitted with a shake of his head, amazed at the revelation that had so easily slipped out. "I do not know when it happened or why but – God help us both – I do love you."

"She's forgiven you," Tallis said, "has she not? And now you are finally free and that is why you can say the words!"

"No, Christine has not yet forgiven me," Erik told her.

"Then why …" Tallis looked crestfallen. "Oh, it was just the anger speaking."

Erik took her hands in his and raised them – each in turn – to his lips. "No," he promised. "It was not the anger speaking. It was not the hurt speaking. It was not any emotion speaking. It was the man speaking. It was Erik speaking. It was my finally finding the courage to say the words you have been longing to hear. It was the possibility of losing you to a whole, perfect man that made me realize what I had before me, what I stood to lose." He shook his head. "I suddenly found myself – once again – facing a world that was cold and dark and so very lonely. It frightened me and I realized I had the power to stop it. I knew what I wanted and I was not afraid to say it." Erik gave Tallis a wan smile. "I love you and I am sorry it took my losing my temper for me to realize it."

"You really love me?" Tallis asked like a child seeking reassurance.

A reassurance that Erik was all too willing and happy to give her. He leaned forward and claimed her lips, not once but twice and again and again before drawing back. "I love you," he said simply.

Tallis swallowed and closed her eyes for a brief moment, a smile crossing her face as she reopened them. "And I love you so." She sighed and gently squeezed the hands that still held to hers. "Now tell me of your journey. Tell me of Christine." Tallis listened as Erik began to speak of Christine and the time they shared together. She studied his eyes as he spoke of their time walking on the beach, their quiet conversation and the joy in her heart that had begun to glow with the words he had spoken, began to slowly fade away. It was replaced by a dawning knowledge, a remembrance of a warning she had spoken to him.

Tallis watched the hope glow brighter and brighter in Erik's eyes with each word that spilled from his lips and she knew what she needed to do.


	51. Chapter 51

**Chapter Summary:** The mysterious man who is manipulating the pieces of his puzzle contemplates his next move. Chief Inspector Pichette and Inspector Rousseau find more clues in the alpine town of Grenoble. Henri seeks out his friend only to have Didier turn on him. Another beating sends Raoul retreating into the arms of his angel. And Tallis breaks some news to Erik …

CHAPTER FIFTY ONE

He sat in the darkened room, velvet drapes released from their tiebacks, falling before the long windows, blocking out the awakening day. He knew he would have to face the new morning, put on the face that everyone expected to see and continue to play the game of a lifetime. He would continue to delude, mislead and beguile those around him. He would smile and nod, befriend and love. He would be everything everyone had always expected him to be. He would continue to be the person he was before the moment when something inside of him had snapped and plunged him into a world of ever evolving madness. His highly intelligent mind could remember the person he had been before that snap and that was why he knew that no one suspected him; he knew how to play the game. He was certain that no one knew he was the maestro hiding in the shadows, conducting each movement of the score of the lives about him..

A single finger tapped lightly up and down on the table before him.

He was almost certain.

There was those who may have suspected but were too involved in their own hopes and fears to speak of it. A slight smile played across his lips; of course, he had had much to do with placing that fear into them. He mentally congratulated himself on the subtle way he had gradually increased his control over the years. He had been cautious, easing his way into their lives, into their minds. Oh, they may have even known what was happening in some part of their small minds but they would have been – were! – no match for him. There had never been any that had been a match for him!

The tapping finger paused in mid-air.

There had been one who might have – perhaps – been a match for him … at one time. But that time had long since passed. Besides, he had so ably taken care of that matter! His quiet whispers, his gentle urgings had been the catalyst that had changed the course of battle. He had masterfully manipulated a series of events that culminated in all for which he had ever wished – and more beyond even his imagination. He could not have foreseen the lovely irony brought forth in the common occurrence of an impending birth; yet it had played so nicely into his hands. That mere announcement, the unplanned footnote to his scheme, had truly broken the toys with which he played.

A puzzled frown crossed his face.

Yet two of his toys seemed to not wish to fall down with the rest of them. The one who stood in the back, thinking it was unseen, overlooked and forgotten. And the other one, closer to the front, thinking it concealed its secret so well. Both thinking they were so clever. Both thinking they were smarter than he.

He would just have to prove them wrong.

Again.

The finger resumed its tap tap tap.

Tap, tap, tap came the sound of Chief Inspector Pichette's pen as he bounced it lightly up and down on his borrowed desk in the constabulary at Grenoble. So lost was he in his own thoughts that he was unaware of the scrutiny being given to him by the two men on the opposite side of the small office.

"Is he always like that?" Inspector Etienne Menard asked Guy Rousseau.

The inspector from Lyon smiled. "He is whenever he thinks," Guy admitted.

"It is rather … disconcerting," Etienne said.

"It is not nearly as disconcerting as being discussed as if I were not even in the same room," Pichette said as the pen stopped tapping and he looked up at the two men with him. Guy was completely nonplussed; Etienne was rather embarrassed and lightly tugged at the corner of his shirt collar. Pichette ignored both of them. "How long does it take to retrieve the owner from the mercantile?"

Inspector Etienne Menard pulled the watch from his vest pocket and glanced at it before raising his eyes to the man across from him. "It should not be that much longer," he replied. "It is early, after all, and Monsieur Ouelett is an old man."

"Do not attempt to placate me with excuse," Pichette snapped.

Guy raised an eyebrow at his mentor; it did not go unnoticed.

"Pray forgive me," Pichette said, grimacing, unused to being out of control. He saw Inspector Menard tilt his head in acknowledgement. "Why do you not brief me – again - on what you know while we wait for Monsieur Ouellet."

Finally something Inspector Menard could do without feeling like he and his men were lacking and not measuring up to the more sophisticated officers from Lyon. If only he knew that the two men in the room with him felt the same way when confronted by the inspectors from Paris. "When you arrived two days ago, I immediately set my best men to searching for information on the news you brought us. We know that Foucault has been seen in the shops and markets here. Amerlaine and Mircea have also been seen in our local environs on occasion. These sightings have been occurring over the last three months. They come to town, purchase supplies and then disappear again. There is reason to believe that they are somewhere in the mountains from the wood and nails that were recently purchased. Such things could be used to strengthen a domicile against the coming winter. Winters are harsh in the Alps."

What Chief Inspector Robert Pichette may or may not have said to Etienne Menard's words was precluded by the sound of a tapping upon the door to the small office.

Inspector Menard rose to his feet and turned toward the door. "Come," he called out.

The door to the office opened and a young, uniformed officer stood there beside a small white-haired man who was worrying a cap through his hands. "Monsieur Ouelett," the officer stated simply before backing away and closing the door behind him. Inspector Pichette rose to his feet, as did Inspector Rousseau.

"Thank you for coming, Monsieur Ouelett," Menard began as he held out a chair for the old man. "We appreciate your taking time from your busy day to speak with us." He waited until Monsieur was seated before waving first to Chief Inspector Pichette and then to Inspector Rousseau. "This is Chief Inspector Pichette and Inspector Rousseau from Lyon." The two men resumed their seats as did Menard. "They are working on a very important case and have come here following some information they were given."

Monsieur Ouelett kept his hat in his hands and nodded at the younger men seated at the table with him. "I will do what I can. I have always tried to do the right thing in my life."

"I am sure of it," Rousseau told him gently, respecting the man's age.

"What can you tell these men of Louis Foucault, Francois Amerlaine or Nico Mircea?" Menard wondered. "We know that they have been customers in your shop."

"They have," Ouelett nodded. "I make it a point, you understand, to know the names of the people who frequent my shop; it makes for a more amiable relationship. I first saw them," he paused and thought for a moment, "sometime around the end of June or perhaps it was the beginning of July." He shrugged. "My mind is getting rather old."

Pichette nodded. "It happens to all of us," he said. "Please continue."

"I remember asking their names as they came in. Two of them were gruff and reluctant but the one named Mircea – ah! – he was more than willing to share names, to speak with the grandfather behind the counter." Ouelett reached up and tapped at his forehead. "A bit off, that one; but that is how I learned their names."

"Did you find out where they were staying?" Rousseau wondered.

Ouelett shook his head. "Sadly, no; on that they seemed to always be deliberately vague. All I know is that one or two of them would come in every seven to ten days for supplies."

Pichette sat up a bit straighter in his chair. "Only one or two? Never all three?"

"No, sir," Ouelett assured him. "After that first time, it was only one or two of them."

"Did you happen to see how they arrived that first time?"

"A cart, much like the ones favored by the gypsies and one of them would always remain with cart." Ouelett bit his bottom lip and began to worry his cap through his hands again. "They did ask me if I could provide them with the name of the local chemist."

Pichette and Rousseau exchanged glances.

"You interest me greatly!" Pichette said as his pen began its rhythmic tapping once more.

"Once more," Henri said with a sigh to the valet guarding the door to Cote de Vallee. "I need to see Monsieur de la Censiere. Are you going to get out of the way or must I plow right through you?"

The valet shook his head. "Monsieur de Chagny …" his words were cut off by a voice calling out to Henri.

"Henri," Monique called as she came down the main staircase.

"Madame," Henri sighed. "Will you please tell this person that it is perfectly permissible for me to see Didier?" Henri seemed to deflate as Monique stopped by his side, her hands reaching out for him. "I need to see him."

"Not you, as well," Monique breathed as she took note of Henri's pale complexion, the dark circles under his eyes.

"Is something wrong with Didier?" Henri was alarmed.

Monique slipped her arm through Henri's. "Come with me," she told him, guiding him up the stairs. Monique lowered her voice. "Didier gave us a great scare yesterday morning and we are still not sure what has happened to him."

Henri lost more of his color, if that was even possible. "What happened?"

"I wish we knew!" Monique exclaimed as they reached the stop of the stairs and began to walk toward Didier's rooms. "He did not come down for breakfast and Xavier went to look for him. The bedroom door was locked and there was no answer. Xavier had to break it in and …" she shook her head, her features contorting in pain. "And he found Didier virtually senseless in the middle of his bed. He has gotten better over this last day but he is still not himself."

Henri could feel his heart falling to his stomach. "Have you sent for a doctor?"

"Senor Gallardo has come and gone and can find no reason for Didier to be in such a state!" Monique replied. "He thinks it may be something he drank. Something illegal, perhaps." She stopped walking – causing Henri to do the same – and turned to him. "You were not out drinking with him, were you?"

"No, Madame," Henri told her. "I was not. I have not seen him since I returned to Chagny. That is why I am here today – I was concerned that I had not seen him. And I desperately need a friend at the moment." Henri hung his head, the admission costing him dearly.

"Come, then," Monique told him. "Perhaps you can speak sense to Didier and discover what is wrong." Monique guided Henri to the partly open door to Didier's room. She lightly clasped his arm. "I shall leave the two of you alone," she said softly with a shake of her head. "I do not know what it is that troubles each of you so but I sincerely hope each of you can find peace before the adults about you are driven to distraction by worry."

"We shall certainly try, Madame," Henri told her and watched as Monique walked down the hallway, disappearing behind another door before turning his attention to the door before him. Henri knocked lightly and called out, "Didier?" before entering the room. "Bugger it all to Hell!" Henri exclaimed at the sight that greeted his eyes.

Didier sat in the middle of the bed, cross-legged, bent over, elbows resting on his knees and his head in his hands. The normally impeccably groomed young man was still wearing the clothes in which he had succumbed to drugged sleep nearly two days previous. Didier's unkempt, outward appearance was nothing compared to what Henri saw when Didier finally raised his head to acknowledge that another person had entered his room. Didier's complexion was a disturbing shade of gray and brown eyes that usually twinkled with such mirth and intellect were dull and glazed over. "Henri?" Didier managed as he blinked and stared at his friend.

Henri quickly moved to sit on the bed next to his friend. "What has happened to you?"

"Things … schemes … life …" Didier managed as his eyes slowly opened and closed, as if he were having trouble concentrating on the world around him.

"You are not making any sense!"

"Sense … centimes … francs … it is all the same."

Henri grabbed his friend by the upper arms forcing Didier to concentrate on his face. "Do not do this, you understand me? Do not do this! I need you here with me!"

Didier managed to keep his attention on Henri. "You need to leave here," he whispered.

"What?" Henri was taken aback.

"You need to leave here," Didier whispered, his hands moving upwards to grab the lapels of Henri's jacket. He laughed - it was a strange sound. "You do not know what I know. You do not see what I see. You do not hear what I hear."

"It cannot be any worse than what I see and hear," Henri muttered.

Didier's hands snaked up to hold Henri's face tightly in their trembling grasp. "You do not know. You cannot know. You can never know. You must run far away from here – far away from me." Didier's hands moved the head between them back and forth. "I will not have the blood of another Chagny on my hands. I will not!" And with those last words, Didier shoved Henri from him.

"Didier?" Henri was puzzled and hurt.

"Go, leave here," Didier began softly, his voice raising to a scream. "Go, leave Chagny. Go, leave France." Didier slowly rose to his feet, dragging Henri up with him. "Go!"

"But …"

"Go!" Didier spat, his face turning red, his hand pointing toward the door.

Henri looked stricken and turned for the door, leaving the room. He encountered Monique coming in the opposite direction.

"Henri?" she wondered at the look upon his face.

Henri shook his head, his chin trembling, the tears welling in his eyes. He opened his mouth but no words came out. He looked at Monique for a brief moment before running down the stairs.

Monique stared after him for the space of a single heartbeat before picking up her skirts and running down the hallway to Didier's room. A startled gasp escaped her lips as she paused momentarily in the door before moving into the room and going to the side of the young man who had collapsed on the floor. "Help," Monique screamed, one hand went to touch Didier's pale face and clammy skin. "Dear God in Heaven, Didier!" She turned her head. "Help!" And turned back to her young cousin.

Didier's eyes uncrossed as he focused on the woman staring down at him. "He is gone." His eyes closed. "Safe and gone," he breathed.

He breathed heavily in and out through his nose, the effort to work through the pain taking a toll on bruised, congested lungs and he coughed, doubling over.

"_Raoul,"_ a voice whispered.

Raoul's head shook as he continued to cough, uncertain which pain was worse – the one he knew from cracked ribs and damaged lungs or the pain from newly forming bumps and bruises - the result of a recent beating. He opened his eyes as the shuddering cough finally stopped. "Oh God," he breathed as he saw fresh blood on his palms. Raoul hesitatingly raised fingers to his mouth and drew them back; there was fresh blood on their tips. Raoul leaned his head back, the tears slipping from his eyes.

"_Please,"_ the voice tried again.

"Go away," he said softly.

"_Not this time,"_ the voice insisted. _"You cannot make me go away any longer."_

"I cannot take another beating," Raoul whispered. "If they hear us …"

"_Then stop speaking,"_ the voice said as a finger touched his mouth before moving upwards_, "and close your eyes."_ The hand ran lightly over Raoul's forehead. _"And come with me."_

Raoul did as he was told, succumbing to the touch of feathered wings. As his eyes slowly closed he could hear the angel whispering to him:

"_Come with me."_

"Where are we?" Raoul wondered as his eyes opened, a puzzled look crossing his face. "I sound funny. I sound like …" he looked down at himself, " … a child."

"_Of course you do, silly,"_ the angel told him as she appeared before him_. "You are a child."_ She looked down at herself, her blue dress, the white cotton pinafore. The angel giggled and twirled around. _"So am I!"_

"I do not understand …" Raoul tried and stopped as the little angel took his hands.

"_You do not need to understand,"_ she said softly. _"All you need to know is that while you are here – with me – you are safe and no one can hurt you again."_ The angel turned Raoul around_. "Look,"_ she told him.

"My fairy bench!" Raoul exclaimed, turning to look at the angel beside him and catching sight of what lay beyond. "The ocean!"

"_Here,"_ the angel told him as she waved her little hand, _"here on this beach, and this bench we are in a magical place. This is a place before time, before the march of time made us adults. This is a time when we were happy and safe. This is a place where there is no pain and no darkness and no separation. This is a place where innocence lives."_

"How long can we stay?" Raoul wondered, turning his eyes from the gently undulating ocean and back to the angel beside him.

The little angel smiled at him, taking one of his hands in both of hers. _"We can stay as long as you need,"_ she assured him and smiled. _"Listen."_ A voice from Heaven, the closest thing that man had ever created to duplicate the cry of an angel – the plaintive sound of a violin - could be heard carried along on the ocean breeze. _"And look,"_ the angel told him as she pointed skyward. There, dancing to the music of Heaven was a red scarf tossed gently on the warm air currents. _"Watch that scarf,"_ the angel said, _"and when it begins to disappear, when you hear other voices calling to you, then it shall be safe to leave."_

"Oh," the gentle exclamation slipped through Raoul's lips and he found a small hand on his face, turning his head.

"_But you must beware of the call of the waves,"_ the angel warned. _"If you heed their call, I may not be able to bring you back." _She desperately searched Raoul's eyes. _"Promise me you shall not listen to the call of the waves!"_

"I promise," Raoul said, his child's hand making a cross over his heart.

The angel smiled. _"Welcome home, my love,"_ she said softly. _"And happy birthday!"_ The little angel stood on tiptoes and kissed the cheek of the boy standing before her.

Tallis, too, kissed the cheek of the man she loved and pulled back to study his face. "It really shall be all right, you know."

Erik shook his head, unwilling to look at the woman seated beside him. "I do not understand how you can say that after … after … after what I did. I do not understand how you can be so understanding."

"That is something I can explain," Tallis told him. "I am a better person than you."

Erik's head snapped up and he turned to face Tallis. "What?" he exclaimed.

"Do not be so surprised," Tallis told him, "you know it is true."

Erik managed a sad little grin. "I do." He laughed. "Do you know that is the same thing that Christine told me?" He turned his head, lost in thought, unable to see the emotions playing in the eyes of the woman who loved him. "She said that neither of us was a nice person and that we loved and were loved by those who were better than we."

"I think I might have liked her if circumstances had been different," Tallis admitted. Her hand reached up and turned Erik's head so that he was looking at her. "Although, I must take umbrage with her assessment of your character; I think you are a very nice person."

"Where did you learn such language?" Erik asked as his eyes narrowed. "It is very impressive." He still managed to take one of Tallis' hands and raise it to his lips. "And thank you."

"I have not been sitting idle while you have been travelling back and forth to Christine," she told him. "I have been studying and learning and asking questions." Tallis managed a small smile. "And thank you."

"Has your new friend, Count whoever-he-is, been helping?" Erik could not stop the words before they slipped out and awaited a scathing, angry retort that never came. He could feel his heart drop at the look that passed over Tallis' face.

"That is something that I need to speak with you about," she began and placed a hand lightly over Erik's mouth. "And I wish you to sit silently and listen – just this once." Tallis removed her hand.

"I promise," Erik grumped.

"I am slowly going rather silly waiting for you to return each time you leave," Tallis said. "I am afraid it is wearing on Madame and she is the one person in this world who least deserves to be affected by my anxiety and nerves. And I have not seen my family in almost eight months as the Baron and his wife did not go home this summer due to …" Tallis cleared her throat. " … circumstances. The Baron has made arrangements for me to visit my parents before the winter weather sets in and the Count has been gracious enough to escort me back home. He insists it is no trouble as he must return to his own home in Germany."

Erik was startled by the words that so easily slipped from Tallis' lips. "You are leaving me?"

"I am going to visit my parents and my family," Tallis replied gently, taking both of his hands in her own. "I am going to visit the people I love. I miss them and I believe that some time with them will settle my nerves." She managed a wan smile. "And it will give you the time you need with Christine without feeling you must constantly rush from one to the other of us. Perhaps, if you spend more time with her, she will see that you truly are a changed man and find it within her heart and soul to forgive you." Tallis squeezed the hands she held. "Then you can return, a free man, ready to face that future which frightens you so."

"You are coming back?" Erik sounded like a lost child.

"I am coming back," Tallis told him. "The Baron will send a letter with me with instructions for one of his retainers to return with me to Paris when," Tallis smiled – a smile that Erik had never before seen upon her lips, "my parents tire of my company."

"I cannot imagine any person ever tiring of your company," Erik breathed.

Tallis raised one of her hands to palm Erik's perfect cheek. "So sweet," she whispered. "I do love you."

Erik drew her into his embrace. "And I love you," he replied, closing his eyes and burying his head in Tallis' soft hair.

Tallis felt the need of Erik's embrace, the touch of his head against hers. She heard the words that he now so easily spoke and knew it was not enough. She was glad that Erik could not see the look in her eyes.

And Tallis was glad that she and her sister had been such accomplished liars in their foolish childhood.


	52. Chapter 52

**Chapter Summary:** On what would have been Raoul's birthday – people make decisions. Philippe decides what to do with what Raoul and Christine left behind. Henri decides what to do with his life. Louis decides that Raoul has suffered enough at Nico's hands. Nico decides otherwise. As Erik returns to Christine, Tallis and Antoinette discuss her decision; Antoinette giving Tallis a different option for her life. And Christine goes to the Cathedral of Notre Dame in Boulogne to light a candle and talk with her husband.

_**Author's Notes:** "S'truth" is English Victorian slang for "God's Truth." Henri being English would know this – of course! And I do not know what all of the inside of the cathedral in Boulogne looks like so the representation of the statues before which Christine kneels are drawn from childhood memories of the statues at Saint Joseph's. And finally - thanks to everyone who is still reading. I had no idea when I started this that it would so long but this story will just not be rushed. I think there may another fifteen or so chapters and an epilogue. We shall see!_

CHAPTER FIFTY TWO

Philippe sighed as he sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at the room around him. The room had been cleaned in the intervening months, dust chased away, glass polished, bed linens changed. He shook his head. Nothing had truly changed and yet everything had changed for there were still little touches scattered about that spoke of the person whose room this had been. Clothes still hung in the wardrobe and rested in drawers lined with tissue paper. An extra pair of riding boots stood discreetly at attention in one corner while a pair of shoes peaked out from beneath the bed skirt. A silver-gilt brush rested atop the long dresser, stray blonde hairs poking out from the bristles.

"I cannot do this," Philippe said. "I just … cannot."

Arthur stood lounging near the doorway. "No one is asking you to," he replied.

"I thought I could, you understand," Philippe told him, a frown crossing his face. "It's been over three months. I am ready to move on or I thought I was; but sitting here looking at all of this – I just do not know. I feel that I will somehow forget if I pack his things away or give them away."

"Philippe," Arthur's heart was breaking for his friend. "You will never forget, you know that as surely as I; none of us will ever forget Raoul. And, perhaps, it is still too soon to go through his things or to make those kind of decisions on your own. Do not forget, though, that you have promised us that you are ready to move on. You have promised us that you are ready to begin living again."

Philippe nodded his head and sighed. "I am ready. I am …" His words were cut off by the appearance of Mathilde in the doorway. "Yes?"

It broke Mathilde's heart to see Philippe in such sorrow once again. She remembered the young man who had always been so gracious to her, who took charge of his infant brother, when the child's father could not. She thought fondly of the young man who had matured into the gracious adult who managed his household with such care, playfully needling at his staff, all the while knowing that he had their respect at every moment. "What do you wish to do with Madame's things?" she asked gently and turned to Arthur as Philippe's eyes closed and his shoulders slumped.

Arthur frowned at her and shook his head slightly and they turned back to look at Philippe, awaiting his decision.

"Close the rooms," Philippe said as he straightened, opening his eyes. "Dust cover the furniture, lock the drawers and the wardrobes and lock the doors. Then I wish you to give me the keys to everything."

"What about the jewelry?" Mathilde wondered, knowing that Christine had left several very valuable pieces in the dresser drawers of her room.

Philippe rose to his feet. "Everything is to be locked up. This chateau is huge and two locked rooms will not be missed." A wry smile briefly crossed his face. "Talked about, perhaps, as a mystery to be solved but not missed." His blue eyes scanned the room. "Not the rooms," he whispered almost to himself before turning his attention to Arthur. "I want you to telegraph Pierre and have the Paris staff pack everything that belonged to Raoul and Christine in trunks and convey the trunks to the attic – save the jewelry. Have Pierre convey that back to my banker for I may have need of it in the future." Philippe crossed the room, placing gentle hands on the arms of his two friends. "It really is time to start living again. It is time to begin closing the chateau and making plans to return to Paris." He smiled at the look on Mathilde's face. "I am trusting you to keep this place ready for my return."

"As always," she promised him.

"Perhaps – with luck and God's grace – I shall return with a lovely wife to help bring life back to this place," Philippe said as he turned to smile slightly at Arthur. "Now, let us go and find some lunch and discuss what needs to be done."

Arthur and Mathilde left the room, followed by Philippe.

"I shall be right down," Philippe said as they turned to him. Philippe waited until Arthur and Mathilde had disappeared down the grand staircase. Once he was certain they were gone, Philippe turned on his heel, reaching for the knob of the door before him, pulling it gently shut. "Goodbye, Christine," he whispered and turned to the door behind him, pulling that shut, resting his palm on the smooth wood for a moment, tears glistening at the corners of his eyes. "Happy Birthday, Raoul."

The same words were slipping from Henri's lips as he sat with his back against his cousin's tomb. "Happy Birthday, Raoul," he breathed and took a sip from flask in his hands. Henri raised his eyes to look at the blue of an autumn sky. "I do not know what I am going to do," he whispered, another burning sip of whiskey sliding down his throat.

A flock of birds danced high overhead, their calls echoing back down to earth, as they began their yearly trek southwards in search of something warmer than that which chased at their tail feathers.

"I should follow their example," Henri said, "and just go." He leaned his head against the cool stones. "Do you remember that manor in the high moors along the Scottish border? Remember how bleak and isolated it was? Remember how we used to run over the moors, playing border raiders?" Henri laughed – a sad little sound – as his eyes closed. "Do you remember the day we got lost and huddled in the rubble of the crofter's cottage until my father and Philippe found us, drenched to the skin from the rain? S'truth, did we get into trouble!"

Henri opened his eyes to see the last of the birds disappearing from view over the mountains. "I do not think I am going to be joining Philippe in Paris," he told the silent countryside. "I think I am going to return to my parents and tell them the truth – they probably all ready know the lack of character their only child possesses. They will help – they have to help! that is what parents do." Henri took another sip from the flask. "That is what you used to do."

The silence of the countryside closed in about him and Henri could feel the weight of it pressing against his heart and soul. He raised the flask to his lips and drained the remaining whiskey before rising to his feet and walking to the front of Raoul's tomb. He placed his forehead against the iron door, pushing into the roughness of the metal, letting the sensation remind him that he was still alive.

"I need to straighten my life out," Henri whispered to his cousin's remains. "I need to be sure what is real and what is a lie before I can say anything." He shook his head against the metal, knowing it would scratch his skin and not caring. "I betrayed you in life, I will not do so in death. I must be certain before I say anything." Henri raised his head, eyes staring at the door almost as if they could see inside. "I need to be certain of where I saw your cross before I betray anymore lives needlessly."

Henri took a step back, his hands clasped before him. "When Philippe returns to Paris, I am going to that manor in the moors, Raoul. I am going to ask my father to hire a doctor and a nurse to go with me. I am going to search my mind and my heart until I know what is truth and then I shall make it up to you. I shall tell what I know and then, maybe, you will stop haunting me."

Henri drew a deep sigh. "Perhaps then, your spirit will finally be at peace and silent."

"Why is he so silent?" Francois wondered as he stared at Raoul.

Louis, too, focused on the man laying silently, huddled in a corner of the sparsely furnished room. He studied the painfully thin frame, the blackened eye, the dried blood on the lips and the vacant eyes. There had been no movement since they had entered the room, no acknowledgement that their hostage was even aware of their presence. Louis bent over and placed a single finger on Raoul's neck, waiting several seconds before straightening. "He is alive," he said and ran a hand through his hair. "Damn him!" he shouted as he turned, stalking across the room and slamming a fist into a wall. "Merde!"

Francois had turned his attention from Raoul to Louis. "You think Nico did this?"

"Yes," he snarled before storming from the room, down the stairs and across the courtyard to the barn. Louis flung the door open to see Nico emerging from one of the storerooms, closing its door behind him and locking it. "Goddamn it, Nico!" he shouted. "What the hell did you do?"

Nico snapped the lock shut to the storeroom door and calmly turned around. "Mine," he announced, standing guard before the door.

"I do not give a fig for what is in that goddamn room!" Louis nearly ran across the barn floor, grabbing Nico by the shirt, lifting him from his feet and slamming him into the storeroom door. "What the hell did you do to our guest? The man is senseless!"

"Most aristocrats are." Nico was completely unphased by Louis' anger.

Louis did not let go of Nico's shirt. "Tell me what you did to him!"

"Put me down and I shall tell you."

Louis put Nico down and took back his hands.

Nico looked down and smoothed the wrinkles from his shirt before looking up. "He was talking to someone and I tired of it," he said softly, his eyes never moving, their lids unblinking, his voice deadly soft and even. "I hit him and hit him and hit him so that he would remain quiet. We do not want anyone to find us, to hear him."

The anger was visible on Louis' face. "No one knows where we are save for one. And who the hell is going to hear anyone up here in the mountains!"

"I hear," Nico replied.

"You stay the hell away from him from now on," Louis ordered, his finger poking Nico in the chest with each word as a strange punctuation to his order. "You are not to go near him! Ever again! Is that understood?"

"Yes," Nico replied, his eyes wide and innocent. "I shall not go near him again."

"See that you do not!" Louis shouted and turned on his heel. "Now I have got to figure out a way to clean up this mess so that we get to keep our heads and the money," he muttered to himself as he walked from the barn, his words trailing after him.

Nico leaned backward against the locked storeroom door. "You do not need to worry," he said in his strange sing-song voice. "I shall clean up. I shall clean it all up. No one shall ever see the mess again." A bizarre look crossed his face. "No one shall ever see my toy again." Nico straightened. "Put it away." He turned to the storeroom door. "Put it all away." A single hand reached out to caress the door. "Mine," Nico breathed. "All mine."

"Mine," Erik breathed into Tallis' ear. "All mine."

Tallis sighed and tightened her arms about Erik's waist. She turned her head to kiss his cheek. "Always," she breathed back. "I want you to know that. I shall always be yours."

Erik drew back, a strange look passing over his face as he studied the woman in his arms. "What does that mean?"

"Must you think there is always something sinister in every word spoken?" Tallis wondered.

Erik frowned. "Yes."

"I am not you," Tallis reminded him.

"And I am very grateful that you are not," he replied, a finger reaching up to trace the contours of Tallis' face. "I am so very grateful." Erik took his hand back. "But I still wish to know what that means."

Tallis rolled her eyes and shook her head. "It means that wherever you go, whomever you are with, you shall always carry my heart with you; just as surely as I carry yours with me."

Erik closed his eyes and shook his head. "I wonder what your parents will say to that," he said softly. "And I wonder why you put up with my suspicions, my nonsense, my …" He was interrupted by a finger on his lips and opened his eyes.

"I put up with it because you are always in my heart," Tallis told him with a small smile. "And my parents will be very happy that I have found someone to love. And when you are forgiven and free, I shall take you to meet them."

"No," the tone of Erik's voice was insistent. "Most definitely not."

"You will meet my parents and they will love you because I do," Tallis told him, her eyes watching the myriad of emotions that played over Erik's face. "You will do this for me," she said again; still not reply from the man in her arms. "I can be just as stubborn as you," Tallis reminded Erik.

"We shall see," Erik finally replied.

"That is enough," Tallis told him, reaching up for a lingering kiss, her arms once again snaking around Erik's waist, moving up to his shoulders, pulling him closer. Tallis broke the kiss, turning her head. "I love you," she whispered in Erik's ear, her head turning back as she planted kisses on his eyes, his forehead, his cheeks, his lips before pulling back, tears in her eyes. "You should go before you miss your train."

"I love you," Erik said as gave Tallis one last kiss, turning to enter the coach that waited patiently at Madame Giry's doorstep. As the coach began to move down the small drive, Erik opened the window and stuck his head out, waving goodbye.

Tallis raised her hand in reply and watched as the coach turned into the traffic on the broad avenue before turning and entering the home, closing the door behind her. She stood silently for a moment as she battled the tears that wanted to start before giving in to them. Trembling hands rose to her face and Tallis sobbed into them. She was drawn from her sorrow by a touch on her arm.

"Come with me," Antoinette told her as she took Tallis by the hand and guided the young woman to her sitting room. Antoinette sat Tallis down on the sofa and took a seat beside her, watching as Tallis got her tears under control before speaking again. "Are you sure this is what you wish to do?" she finally asked.

Tallis nodded and accepted the lace handkerchief that Antoinette offered, dabbing at her eyes before running the lace back and forth through her hands.

"Why?" Antoinette wondered.

Tallis turned her head so that she would not have to look at the woman before her. "Because I have seen the hope in his eyes when he speaks of Christine," she began softly. "I do not think he even realizes it is there."

"I am certain of it," Antoinette said with a frown.

"He is insisting that he must continue to go to her until he is certain she delivers a healthy child," Tallis said as she turned back to Antoinette. "Even if she forgives him, he will not let her go!" Tallis rose to her feet and began to pace. "I cannot compete with her. I am not thin and elegant. I am not talented or intelligent." She paused for a moment looking down at herself. "I should be in one of the paintings by Monsieur Rubens that you showed me. I should be living on a farm raising fat children and churning butter." Tallis sighed. "I should stop dreaming of things beyond my station."

"Do not think so harshly of yourself!" Antoinette's voice was slightly raised, attracting Tallis' attention. "You have much to offer! You are honest and willing to learn. Perhaps, you are not the ideal image of what society deems a woman should be but you are lovely and I have seen men turn to look at you when we are together in public. You pull people to you with your charm and honesty, making them feel comfortable in your presence." Antoinette nodded. "And that, my dear, is a gift given to few."

"But it is not enough for him," Tallis said sadly.

"You know I love him," Antoinette replied. "I pitied him first and then came the compassion and finally the love for a dear friend; but I am not blind to his faults." A look of irritation flashed across her eyes. "What he needs is a good spanking." She smiled at Tallis. "Yet I doubt it will do any good other than to further irritate him."

Tallis managed a smile and a nod.

Antoinette held out her hand. "Come," she told Tallis and waited until the young woman was once again seated next to her. "Are you truly certain you wish to do this?"

"I am," Tallis told her. "The Baroness took me to the telegraph office yesterday and I have informed my parents. I do not think my cousins will be too horribly shocked when I appear on their doorstep." She shook her head. "We have a great fondness for each other and they are much like me – simple folk."

Antoinette managed a small laugh. "You are not 'simple folk', my dear child." She reached behind a pillow on the sofa, extracting a satin pouch that she placed into Tallis' hands. "This is some money I wish you to put away."

"I cannot accept this …" Tallis began.

"I am afraid I am going to have to insist that you do," Antoinette told her. "I wish you take it and keep it safe and should you ever desire to return to Paris, to me," her voice lowered, "to Erik, you are to use this money to do so. There is enough money there for a comfortable, safe trip from England to France." Antoinette laid a hand over Tallis'. "From Kingsand to Paris for I am not going anywhere."

Tallis broke into tears and Antoinette gathered the young woman into her arms, placing Tallis head upon her shoulder. "Why did I have to fall in love with him?" Tallis asked around her sobs. "Why?"

"Why?" Christine asked as she stood at the bottom of the steps that led into the Cathedral of Notre Dame, staring up at the huge dome.

"Pardon?" Marie wondered.

Christine turned to face her, a small smile on her face. "I am just talking to God," she said and turned her attention to the restaurants and shops that lined the Rue de Lille. Christine reached into her reticule and handed money to Marie. "Take this and go find something lovely for dinner tonight," she said, her eyes suddenly twinkling. "And chocolate; find a chocolate cake for that was something that Raoul loved. He always had such a love of sweets." The twinkling in Christine's eyes began to be blurred by tears. "I shall always mourn my husband but tonight we need to celebrate his life." A single hand reached for the child she carried. "To celebrate the life with which he blessed me."

Marie looked curiously at the bills in her hand. "It is a lot of money, Madame," she shook her head and corrected herself. "Christine."

"One night, Marie," Christine told her. "It is only for one night." She raised her eyes to the carriage driver. "Can you meet us back here in two hours?"

"Aye, Madame," he replied with a tip of his cap. "Two hours, it shall be."

"Two hours?" Marie wondered.

"I need some time with my husband," Christine said softly and smiled again. "And buy yourself something silly; it is always good for the spirit."

Marie smiled inwardly, knowing just what it was she would buy. "I promise," she said and glanced at the watch on a chain about her neck. "I shall return in two hours time."

"Thank you," Christine said as she turned back to the cathedral and climbed the steps, opening the doors to the bright interior and standing silently for a moment. She looked at the people scattered about the pews, kneeling in prayer and sitting in silent contemplation. The sound of a door opening caught her attention and she saw an elderly man leaving the confessional. Hands reached up to adjust the veil that hung from her black cap and Christine walked down the long center aisle. Christine stopped halfway down and turned right moving down a side aisle to pause before a set of statues.

The Virgin Mary set upon one of the shelves that jutted out from the wall, candles in blue votive glasses flickering before her. Christine turned her eyes to the other statue, a small smile playing at the edges of her lips. Saint Joseph rested upon the other shelf, one hand over his heart, the other hand carefully cradling a smiling Infant with blonde curls and an upraised hand. Christine knelt before that statue, slipping a franc note into the offering tin and lighting one of the candles in the red votive glasses, crossing herself and bending her head in prayer for a moment.

"Happy Birthday, my love," she whispered as she raised her head, one hand wiping at the tears on her cheeks, the other going to massage the small of her back. Christine slowly and rather awkwardly rose to her feet and moved to sit in one of the pews that faced the statues and candles, her thoughts turning inward.

"_I have been so angry,"_ she thought. _"Angry with those men for what they did to you, angry with you for not listening to me when I screamed for you as you rode away from Chagny that day."_ Christine shook her head. _"And most importantly I have been so very angry with myself for allowing this to happen. I often wondered how long I would be angry. How long I would hate the world for continuing to live when my life had stopped."_ She bit her bottom lip. _"How long it would be before I knew you had forgiven me."_

The butterfly returned. _"And now I know." _Christine sighed, smiling, reaching for her precious butterfly as the tears began again. _"The baby is moving, Raoul. Our child – your child – is real and alive and moving!"_ A happy laugh escaped Christine's lips. _"She has your touch, my love; soft and gentle." _Christine brushed away her tears. _"I was so afraid this would never happen. I was afraid that I would be punished for letting you die. I was afraid I would lose this last piece of you. I was afraid she would die, too; everyone I have ever loved has died. I do not think I could have borne any more loss."_

Christine sat silently for a moment, feeling the small flutterings from her child, her eyes fixed upon the candle she had lit for her husband. Her thoughts drifted away in the silence of the great cathedral, drifting back to two children chasing each other along a golden beach, their hands reaching out, fluttering as they grasped at jackets, trying to hold onto something that always seemed just beyond reach. The hand resting on her child began to trace gentle circles over the black silk of her gown.

"_Your baby is moving,"_ Christine thought again, feeling the wonder of it wash over her like a flood. _"You are trusting me with this miracle."_ She raised her eyes to the ceiling almost as if she could see to Heaven. _"It is as if you trust that I am finally grown up enough to care for your child."_ Her eyes closed briefly. _"And you would not do so unless you had forgiven me." _Christine could almost see Raoul's eyes sparkle with delight as her hands guided his own over her swollen middle, tracing the movements of their child. She lowered her eyes and opened them. _"I will not fail you this time."_

"_And now that I am forgiven, I am free to forgive."_ Christine sighed inwardly. _"I will forgive him for both of us for I know you have released all your earthly burdens and would want for me to release mine. It is time to let him go, to let him find the peace you have found. It is time to forgive him and break that last bond that pulls my heart down. It is time to admit that part of me did love him so that he will know he has the right to be loved."_ Christine's hands joined together and she massaged her wedding band and engagement ring. "Just as I had the right to be loved, the right to continue to love."

Christine rose to her feet, crossing to the statues and kneeling once again. She bowed her head, resting it against clasped hands. _"Free," _she thought, _"I am finally free."_ Christine shook her head. _"Why did it take your loss to make me realize that?" _Christine raised her head, opening her eyes and kissing the rings that Raoul had given her on they day they had sworn to be together for all their days.

"Happy birthday, Raoul," she whispered. "I love you. I shall always love you."


	53. Chapter 53

**Chapter Summary:** Tallis and Serge arrive in England and she discovers she is not the only one who is running from an impossible love. After a week spent with Christine, Erik ponders the changes he sees in her. Christine gives him the answers he seeks. Two angels break the bonds on their wings as forgiveness is found and accepted and goodbyes are spoken. And Nico has reached the end of his building and has grown tired of waiting …

CHAPTER FIFTY THREE

Tallis stood still and silent on the dock at Dover, England and watched as a tall, young man directed the loading of trunks onto a private-hire carriage. Her eyes were dull, her complexion pale, the only color coming from the autumn breezes that blew in off the Channel, chilling her cheeks. She was numb, her mind blank, incapable of thought. Tallis could not even find the desire to cry; all she wished was to climb in the carriage and flee to the other side of this new country. She only wished to fling herself into the welcoming arms of family and bury herself there.

"Fraulein?" a male voice called gently to her.

"I am sorry," Tallis said softly as she was pulled from the gray nothingness. She focused on the face before her. "I did not hear you."

Serge nodded his head. "It is understandable. The coach is ready to depart." He held out his hand. "If you would permit me the honor?"

Tallis took his hand and allowed him to help her into the coach. She settled on one of the benches, watching as Serge spoke to the driver before climbing in and taking the bench opposite her. She watched as Serge closed the door, waiting until the rocking motion of the coach settled before tapping lightly on the roof, the coach jolting and moving off at a steady even pace. Tallis studied the folded hands in her lap. "Thank you," she said quietly. "Thank you for being my chaperone. You did not have to do that."

Even though he knew that Tallis could not see it, Serge laid a hand over his heart. "I would never dream of allowing any young lady to travel such a distance without escort! It is not proper and it is certainly not safe. Who knows what monsters lurk in the wide world?"

Tallis raised her eyes at the last remark.

"Forgive me," Serge said. "I meant no offense."

"There is no need for forgiveness for no offense was taken," Tallis assured him and turned to look out the window as the bustling port city of Dover moved past. "He was so much more than the monster of the stories," she sighed.

"Tell me of this man whom you love so much that you would leave him to the arms of another woman," Serge asked.

"What is there to tell," Tallis wondered, her eyes never straying from watching the world move past.

"I am sure there is much to tell."

"There is," Tallis nodded slightly, acceding to Serge's request, giving in to her emotions. "He is complex. He is intelligent and talented. He is run by the moods of his heart but will never admit to that. He can be a beast yet there is such deep compassion within that animal – a compassion he is afraid to show for to do so will mean that he is weak and in need of others. He is afraid to love for that will mean he can be hurt. Yet the capacity he has to love is boundless." Tallis turned to look at the perfect young man who stared at her. "You only have to listen to his music to know that." She sniffled. "I just wish he were not so afraid to let go of what might have been so that he would have been able to face what could have been."

Serge sat quietly for a moment. "You are very wise," he said.

"No I am not," Tallis replied with a shake of her head. "If I were so wise, I would still be in Paris waiting for Monsieur Herrin to return from Boulogne."

"Fraulein," Serge began, "there will always be those in our lives whom we love more than our senses can say. Yet there may come a time when no matter how much we love them we must let them go for their own good. We must not let them cling to us out of desperation; they must come to us out of an honest willingness to be with us."

Tallis tilted her head slightly. "But what if they have known nothing but desperation in their lives? What if they have never truly known what it is to love?"

"Ah, you speak of a child!" Serge replied. "Even a small child must one day walk on its own – away from the loving embrace of its parents. Yet does that child – once it knows it is safe and secure on its own – not return to the parents who love it?"

"I should wish that the child inside the man I love would be that wise," Tallis told him as she lowered her eyes. "But I know that such a wish would be foolish, indeed."

There was no reply from the man who sat watching her. Finally a strange, derisive little sound escaped from between his lips. "You are not the only one who loves a child," he said.

Tallis raised her head, the question in her eyes.

"Her name is Ilse," Serge told Tallis, his eyes focusing on a sight she could not see, a gentle smile beginning at the edges of his mouth. "She is only eighteen and she is very beautiful. She has long blonde ringlets and large blue eyes and a smile that could melt the winter snow. She is very sweet and very innocent – still very much the child. Our engagement has been of long-standing for – while she insists she loves me and wishes to be with me for the rest of our lives – Ilse cannot make up her mind or draw the courage to stray from the safe harbor of her childhood home." Serge once again focused on Tallis. "She, much like your Erik, is afraid to face the uncertainty of the future and insists on clinging to the comfort of the past."

"But you have not left her."

Serge sighed. "I am afraid I have. That is why I was with my cousin and his wife in Paris. That is why Natalya asked her brother if I could join them to celebrate the anniversary; Alexander and Natalya are trying their best to help me forget that sweet child I have the misfortune to love."

Tallis was puzzled. "Misfortune? How could love ever be a misfortune? Even when it disappears, even when it can never be, even when it breaks our hearts, just by having been in our hearts it makes us better than we were before."

A crooked smile crossed Serge's face. "I think you will teach me much over these next few days as we journey forth." He turned to look out at the passing countryside. "Did you know that I am going to be spending time here in England?" He turned back to Tallis. "I am looking for a suitable home to lease for a few months while I think about what it is I want." Serge sighed. "While Ilse thinks upon what it that she wants. Perhaps I can find something not far from where your cousins live." He tilted his head to one side. "Would you come and visit with me were I to do such a thing?"

"I would like that very much, Monsieur," Tallis told him.

"As would I," Serge agreed. "They say that misery loves company and there is always the chance that we can help each other through the sorrow we are both feeling."

"I am not sure that I am miserable," Tallis told him. "Melancholy, perhaps, but not miserable." She smiled slightly. "Still, I would enjoy your company for you understand what it is that I am feeling."

Serge bowed slightly from his waist. "So it shall be done," he said.

"So it shall be done," Tallis echoed his words as she turned to once again watch the English countryside move past the coach windows, wondering what her new life would bring.

Erik, too, wondered what his life would bring as he stood in the back garden of Christine's home, watching the waters of the Channel roll in the distance. He had been with her for nearly a week and there was a definite change in the atmosphere of the house, in Marie's attitude toward him. Most importantly, there was a definite change in Christine; he sensed it the moment she had opened the door to his knock. Christine had greeted him with genuine warmth, almost as if she were glad to see him. He had noted the pronounced increase in the bulge beneath her gown, the softening of angles as her pregnancy added weight to her thin frame. He had seen the gentle glow in her eyes that radiated outward, changing every aspect of her. Yet that gentleness was tempered by something that Erik had not at first recognized. It was only over the last several days, as he watched Christine, walked with her, conversed with her, that he had come to know what it was that he had seen. That sweet glow, the gentleness, was tempered by a resigned sorrow that seemed to have aged Christine in muchthe same way that a fine wine ages over time. It had rounded her out, maturing her, completing her growth, turning her into something rich and mellow – it had turned her into a woman.

"What is happening?" Erik wondered to himself.

"What is happening where?" Christine asked as she approached him.

Erik turned to face her. "With you. With me." He was silent for a moment. "With us," he finished quietly.

"There is something," Christine told him. "We need to talk for there is something I wish to say to you."

Erik turned and pulled out one of the wrought iron café chairs from beneath the outside table.

"No," Christine told him as she moved to his side and slipped her arm into his. "Let us go into the parlor."

A worried look crossed Erik's face as Christine began to lead him into the house and she laughed at it.

"Do not be such a worry-wort," she told him. "Words are not always bad or hurtful; there are times when they can be of great release and comfort."

Erik made a grumping sound as he allowed Christine to guide him into the parlor. She walked him over to the sofa and made him sit next to her. He watched as she took both his hands in her own, studying them before raising her eyes, locking them with his. "What is it?" Erik wondered hesitantly.

"I have sent Marie away for the afternoon," Christine began, "for I wished this moment to be justbetween the two of us."

There was something of import happening within the room; Erik could feel it. "I shall listen patiently," he told Christine.

A broad smile brightened Christine's face. "There is a first time for everything!" she said and grew more somber. Christine wet her lips and drew a deep breath before continuing. "Ever since Raoul was murdered I have carried such a weight of anger and guilt upon my shoulders for so many reasons. I was angry with the men who felt they had the right to brutalize and murder him. I was angry with Raoul for leaving the day we had that disagreement as I called after him. And I have been so angry at myself for being so afraid of life!"

Erik opened his mouth and Christine shook her head.

"You promised to remain silent and let me speak," she reminded him before continuing. "Yes, you were the one who created that fear in my heart but it was also my fault. I have been such a child for so many years. I was more than willing to let everyone about me dictate my life, my emotions. It is very frightening to find yourself alone in the world at a young age …"

"As I know all too well," Erik interrupted her.

Christine smiled at him and squeezed the hands she held. "I was so willing to cling to anyone and everyone who would comfort me. I was willing to hide in the security of their emotions so that I would not have to face my own emotions." She studied Erik for a moment. "That night when you ordered me to choose between you and Raoul, you did me a great favor."

Now Erik was confused. "Pardon?"

"That night you made me begin to face myself, you made me quickly search my heart and soul, you forced me to stop being a child and begin to be an adult." Christine managed a small smile. "And I thank you for that." Then she heaved a great sigh, as her smile grew wider and softened; still the sorrow lingered in her face. "A little over a week ago it would have been Raoul's twenty-fifth birthday."

"I did not know," Erik said softly.

"How were you to know?" Christine replied with a shake of her head. "I tell you that because it is part of what has happened, what must be said."

"I shall remain silent."

"Thank you," Christine told him. "I am also five months along with my pregnancy and I have been waiting for something to happen with my child. I have also been waiting for a sign that Raoul has forgiven me for the foolish decision I made that was colored by my fears. My waiting was not in vain." She closed her eyes, a single tear escaping. "Shortly before Raoul's birthday I felt my child move for the first time."

"Christine!" Erik exclaimed. "That is wonderful!"

Christine sniffled and opened her eyes. "It is wonderful," she replied softly, "and it is also heartbreaking."

Erik was puzzled. "Why?"

"Because I have this image of Raoul when I told him that our child was moving." Christine shook her head. "I can hear that silly little laugh of his and see the joy in his eyes. I can almost feel the gentleness of his touch, as he would follow the movement of his child beneath my skin. It breaks my heart to know that Raoul will never actually do that, to know that the memory of this is something I created." The smile returned to Christine's face. "Yet this event has also set me free."

"How so?" Erik wanted to know.

"I have life growing within me," Christine said. "I have a living reminder of what Raoul and I shared tucked warm and safe beneath my heart. And my baby is alive and moving and suddenly so very real and not a distant hope, something that I needed to fear would leave me as everyone else I have ever loved has left. That I felt her began to move shortly before her father's birthday was the sign for which I had been waiting that would say I was forgiven." Christine rolled her eyes and laughed. "I know how ridiculous that sounds but after everything that has happened over these last months, this simple event that every other woman takes for granted, that Raoul and I waited for and wanted so desperately, has transformed me! It is as if Raoul gave me a gift for his birthday – that he is trusting that I am finally adult enough to raise his child to be everything he would ever want it to be – honest and intelligent and compassionate and loving." Christine sighed. "Everything he was."

Erik found himself at a loss for words.

"And because I have been forgiven, I am free to forgive," Christine said gently, taking one of her hands and resting it gently against the marred skin of Erik's face. "For every cruel and horrid thing you did to me and to Raoul, I forgive you – we forgive you."

"Oh God, Christine," Erik breathed, his eyes closing, his heart beginning to break into small pieces.

"I want you to know, to trust, that I mean every word I say. You are forgiven and free. The dark locks on your soul are opened and your spirit is free to soar. I want my angel to spread his wings and fly." Christine's thumb caressed his cheek. "And I want you to open your eyes and look at me."

Erik did as he was told.

"And I want to say that I love you."

Erik choked.

Christine laughed. "Is that such a surprise?"

"As a matter of fact, it is," Erik managed.

"Understand that I loved my husband; I shall always love Raoul," Christine said. "But that does not mean I did not love you, as well. You were the first man who set my heart fluttering, my soul soaring. You showed me that I had the potential to be so much more than just another chorus girl, another young woman full of dreams. You taught me how to dream! You began to create the woman that my husband fell in love with and that is a gift for which I shall be forever in your debt. There is a place in my heart and in my soul that shall always and forever belong to you. They are places that no one shall ever be able to touch, special places full of sacred memories that I shall carry with me till the day I die." Christine took her hand and placed it over Erik's beating heart. "And to know that I loved you is proof that you have the capacity to love, that you are worthy to be loved. Never forget that!"

Erik grabbed her hand and raised it to his lips. "I did love you Christine," he told her. "I did not realize it till the moment when you kissed me, when you were willing to sacrifice your future for Raoul's but I did love you." He smiled. "And, much like you, I think I shall always love you. You shall always be in my heart and in my soul – new as both of them are."

Christine sat silently for a moment. "Go to her," she told Erik. "Go to Mademoiselle Ordogne and hold to her. Keep her in your arms, treasure her, love her for you never know how long she will be in those arms. Do not make the mistakes I have made, please!" Christine pleaded with him. "Do not take for granted that there will always be a tomorrow to say 'I am sorry' or 'I love you' or to try and make up for past mistakes." Christine took back one of her hands to wipe at the tears on her cheeks.

"But what of you?" Erik asked, his eyes straying to her swollen middle. "What of your child? I need to be here! I need to make sure that nothing happens! I need to make sure that you deliver a healthy child!"

"Listen to me!" Christine told him. "I will be fine. Marie is here and her family is here and I have lovely neighbors who are all too willing to help out the young widow."

"But …"

"Just as I have finally let Raoul go, you need to let me go."

Erik shook his head. "But …"

"No," Christine was insistent. "I love you and I loved Raoul. God! How I loved my husband! But I was too young and too foolish to truly appreciate just how much I loved either of you till this moment. And that foolishness destroyed both of you." Christine shook her head as Erik opened his mouth. "You know it is true and do not try to argue with me. I betrayed you that night and it cost lives and it almost destroyed you! And look what my loving Raoul has done – he is dead!" Christine set her lips into a thin line. "No. I will never love again. There will never be another man in my life for I cannot take the chance that my love would destroy them as well."

Erik tilted his head at her. "Now who is it that speaks foolishness?"

"I am determined! I will never love again!" Christine replied and softened her tone. "I have loved and been loved by two of the most incredible men who will ever walk this Earth and that is more than most women will ever have in their lifetimes."

"Christine," Erik said sadly.

"You cannot change my mind, Erik. I am going to have my child here in this land that her father so loved and then we shall go America in the spring and begin a new life" A single hand went over her child. "It shall just be her and I." Christine laughed softly. "And Marie for she is insisting that she must come with us." Christine cupped Erik's face. "It is time to let me go. It is time for each of us to set the other free. It is time to admit that we will always love each other and let that love set our wings flying. It is time to say goodbye."

Erik's hands moved up to hold Christine's wrists. "I do not know that I can," he said.

Christine nodded her head. "You can," she told him as she leaned in for a kiss, drawing back, staring into his pained eyes, her own eyes reflecting the same pain. "Good bye, Erik; may you go with God. May you find the happiness you deserve, the happiness I could never give you, with Mademoiselle Ordogne. May your future be filled with a love that is real and true and will carry you both to eternity. When you think of me, think of me fondly for a brief moment and then put me back into the locked portions of your heart and soul. And never forget that I loved you, that a part of me shall always love you."

"Christine …"

"Say it," she urged him gently.

Erik drew a deep breath, letting it out slowly before reaching in to kiss Christine for a last time. "Goodbye, Christine," he whispered against her lips before drawing back slightly and resting his head against hers. "I shall carry your memory in my heart till the day I die. I shall pray that your child will be healthy and the exact image about which you dream. Know that I am truly sorry for all that I took from you and from Raoul and that I am eternally grateful that you have such a capacity for forgiveness within your soul. I bid you a safe and happy journey through your life and hope that your child will bring you much joy and that your memories of Raoul will bring you comfort. I promise that I shall love Tallis with a depth and sincerity that will honor her." He hugged her close. "And a part of me shall always love you, as well."

Christine sighed and hugged Erik back, each of them feeling their angel wings break free from chains of regret and bitterness and begin to soar free toward the promise of new lives.

And in the south of France, Nico, too, was hugging something, feeling his heart soar.

"Soon," he breathed as his hands caressed the polished wood on the outside. "Soon." He straightened and stared at the long object resting on sawhorses. "Such a pretty toy box," he said softly. "Such a pretty place to put the mess I must pick up." Nico walked around the long box, stopping on the other side, raising the top of the box and feeling the rough, unfinished wood inside. "No time to finish," he said, a decidedly evil smile crossing his face. "No time to finish for comfort." Nico rose and carefully shut the lid, turning his gaze toward the direction of the farmhouse. "No more time left," he snarled.


	54. Chapter 54

**Chapter Summary:** Chief Inspector Pichette and Inspector Rousseau receive another piece of the puzzle that could possibly lead them to Raoul. Madame Giry seeks out Erik, finding he has returned, declaring that he truly loves Tallis; she does not share her secret. Meg has a little something to share with Val. Raoul begins to wonder if he should not "return". And Nico reclaims his toy …

_**Author's Notes:** Okay folks – **Advisory Time.** What is about to happen – what Nico is about to do - is not for the claustrophobic or those with tender sensibilities. This was not in the original outline but it is a necessity to get an injured and ill Raoul to where I need him to be and to- _at the very least!_ - get him there alive. Consider yourselves suitably warned!_

CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR

Chief Inspector Robert Pichette studied the eggs on the plate before him – their yellow eyes staring back – and sighed, beginning to tap his fork against the china plate. He was grateful that the hotel in Grenoble where he and Inspector Rousseau were staying had several small private dining rooms for he was an early riser and savored the quiet that privacy afforded. He savored the quiet for it afforded him time to think, to reflect, to look back upon what had been learned since he and Rousseau had arrived in Grenoble nearly two weeks previously. The information had been slow in coming but over the last few days it had started to come in quickly much like a storm over the Alps.

The fork continued to tap against the china as Pichette raised a cup to his lips and took a sip of the slightly bitter coffee.

Louis Foucault had not been seen in Grenoble since slightly before they had arrived and that time amounted to nearly three weeks. The last time any of his associates had been seen had been two weeks ago when Francois Amerlaine had been in the mercantile purchasing basic supplies. Nico Mircea had not been seen in over a month. Chief Inspector Pichette thought that such information meant the men had split up, heading in different directions or they were lying low, waiting for something to happen. It was the thought of the second that bothered Pichette. Knowing just what type of cruelty and deception of which those men were capable bothered him to near distraction. He had to stop them before they hurt another innocent, before they tore another family apart.

"Well, I shall never find the answer in this food," Pichette muttered to himself as he rose to his feet, dropping his napkin on the table. He gathered his overcoat from the empty chair at the other side of the table and slipped it on before leaving the private room and walking toward the lobby of the hotel. He managed a slight smile as he saw Guy Rousseau walking in through the front door; he met his favorite inspector halfway across the lobby.

"Good Morning, Sir," Rousseau said as he extended a hand.

"Inspector," Pichette acknowledged. "You are up and out early this morning.

"I was going over what we know of Foucault and found it distracted me from sleep," Rousseau replied. "So I rose early and found that there was a message awaiting me when I came down this morning."

Pichette's sharp eyes glittered. "You interest me greatly," he said. "What type of message?"

"Shall we walk to the station?" Rousseau wondered. "I can speak as we walk."

There was a tone in his young assistant's voice that made something in Pichette's spine straighten. It was a tone he had heard escaping from his own lips over the years. It was a tone that spoke volumes without the need of words. It was a tone that said something of great import was beginning to unfold. It was a tone that caught and held Pichette's attention.

"We are walking," Pichette said as he and Rousseau exited the hotel and turned left toward the police station. "Now is the time for you to be talking.

Guy ignored the slightly prodding tone in his mentor's voice and drew a deep breath. "The note I received this morning has all ready sent me to the station to speak with the desk sergeant."

"I hope that conversation was more illuminating than the current one," Pichette muttered.

Another chance to ignore the tone of voice. "The desk sergeant has informed me that someone – and he cannot be certain who since the request came through many layers of intermediaries – was searching for farms to lease several months ago." Guy pulled out a notepad from his pocket and briefly scanned the writing. "This information comes from a leasing agent in town. Unfortunately, the request did not amount to a contract but it has given us a new place to search."

"And just where is it we are searching?" Pichette wondered, looking at the young man beside him with a sharp eye.

"The leasing agent who has come forward brought with him a list of the properties he suggested – all rather isolated farms located higher up in the mountains," Guy told him. "Inspector Menard is assembling as many available men as he can find into search parties. He is hoping you will help to plan the search strategy." Guy cleared his throat. "And I am hoping you will let me lead one of those parties."

Chief Inspector Pichette stopped dead in his tracks causing Inspector Rousseau to do the same. He turned to look at the man next to him. "This is the best news we have had since the Vicomte was murdered." A decidedly determined look crossed his face. "I will also be heading one of those search parties." He clapped Guy on the shoulder. "Let us not delay any longer!"

"There is no time for delays!" Erik told Madame Giry as he opened the door to his garret. "Or interruptions,' he said as he glared at her before striding back to sit at his piano.

Antoinette looked about the usually darkened room, her sharp eyes taking in the opened curtains letting the sun pour in, the music paper scattered about the piano, the half-eaten food resting on the table. "You have not been to see me since you returned," she told him as she entered his garret, closing the door behind her. "I did not even know you had returned."

Erik looked over his shoulder at her. "I do not have the time for idle chit-chat."

"So you have said," Antoinette replied as she took her gloves off and settled into a chair near the piano. "I wish to hear how Christine is doing." She narrowed her eyes at Erik. "And I should think you would wish to hear how Tallis is doing."

"Damn impertinent woman," Erik grumped and put his pen down, turning on the piano bench so he could face Antoinette. "Christine is well; she has felt her child move for the first time."

A genuine smile crossed Antoinette's face. "That is wonderful news!" she exclaimed.

"Hmmm," Erik replied "I take it that the next news will be just as wonderful – she told me goodbye and made me bid her the same."

"Goodbye?" Antoinette wondered. "As in 'I shall never see you again'?"

"That would be the word."

Antoinette leaned back in her chair. "Well, well, well. I do believe Christine is finally maturing into the woman I always knew she could become." She eyed Erik shrewdly. "And what do you intend to do about it?"

Erik waved his hands at the music papers about him. "I was trying to do something about it when you interrupted me!" he exclaimed impatiently.

"You are scribbling notes on paper?"

Erik threw up his hands and let out an exasperated sigh as he rose to his feet and began to pace. "I am trying to compose my feelings for Tallis! I am trying to put the music of her life down on paper!" He stopped his pacing for a moment, the harshness fleeing from his countenance. "I once promised her that I would write a song for her – much as I did for Meg. I promised her that it would be a simple melody, full of her sweetness." Erik grew irritated again. "I would like to have it done before she returns from her parents and I cannot do that if I keep getting interrupted!"

"Will you please sit for a moment?" Antoinette asked him, waiting until Erik had taken a seat on the edge of the piano bench. "I want a truthful answer to my next question and you know I will know if you are lying."

"All too well," Erik muttered.

Antoinette chose to ignore his rapidly fluctuating moods; she had grown used to them over the years. "Do you truly love Tallis or is she just a substitute for Christine?"

Erik frowned at her. "Why must you do this?"

"Because I am your oldest and dearest friend," Antoinette told him, "and because I love Tallis dearly and if you have intentions of hurting her, I want to know now."

Something in Erik seemed to deflate. "I love her, Antoinette," he said softly. "I do not think I realized that it was truly love and not just a desire for another possession until I spoke with Christine." His gaze drifted away. "I watched Christine as she spoke of Raoul and what she lost when he died. I realized the hurt and pain I saw in her face could have been what I might have seen for eternity had I not let them leave that night. She loved him; she really loved him." Erik's heart paid dearly for that admission. "And it was not till that moment that I finally saw it. Christine told me I should hold to Tallis and not take for granted that there would always be a tomorrow." Erik closed his eyes and shook his head. "I am trying very hard to heed her words."

Antoinette was grateful that Erik had his eyes closed and could not see the look on her face.

But Val could see the look on his wife's face and a puzzled one crossed his own. "What are you hiding?"

Meg slipped the fashionable hat from her head and placed it into the hands of a waiting valet before crossing the foyer and taking her husband's outstretched hand. "Who says I am hiding anything?"

"Meg," Val playfully frowned at her, reaching a single finger to run gently across her brow, "I know that look and you have been doing something that I should probably know about."

"I have been out shopping all morning," Meg told him. "Does Cook have lunch ready yet?" She twinkled merrily. "Spending your money is hard work and makes me quite hungry."

Val looked purposefully at his wife's empty hands. "If you have been shopping, where are the packages?"

Meg took back the hand she held. "To be delivered," she said airily as she walked away, entering the bright front parlor.

Val looked after her for a moment, dumbstruck, before chasing her. He followed her into the parlor and closed the door. "What is going on?" he demanded of the woman lounging rather carelessly on the sofa.

"Shopping and packages," Meg said as she reached up and pulled several pins from her hair, the loose locks tumbling down over her shoulders.

"Do not think to get round me with that, Madame," Val said as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"With what?" Meg was all wide-eyed innocence.

"That!" Val gestured irritably in her direction. "I know there is something and I damn well mean to know what it is." He turned his back to the room, turning the key in the door and turning back to the room. "There," he said as he dropped the key into an inner pocket of his jacket, "we are now locked in and you cannot leave until you tell me what is going on!"

Meg rose to her feet and sashayed over to her husband, slipping her arms about his waist. "Dearest Valery," she said softly, kissing his neck. "You know I shall always enjoy being locked in a room with you."

Val rolled his eyes. "Do you think seduction will work?"

Meg grinned. "It has never failed me before," she breathed into his ear, her hands moving down his back.

"Not. This. Time." Val was insistent and placed his hands on his wife's arms, moving Meg slightly away from him. "I want to know what is going on!"

"My, my, my," Meg said, a brow rising. "You did arise on the wrong side of the bed this morning, Monsieur." She turned her back to him and walked toward the windows overlooking the street. A single hand reached up and drew back one of the heavy drapes. "I wonder how many other husbands there are who also rose on the wrong side of their beds this day."

"You should be worrying about this husband," Val said between clenched teeth, rapidly coming to the end of his patience for his wife's nonsense.

Meg turned back to the room. "Why?" she smiled at him. "You seem perfectly fine."

"Dammit, Marguerite!" Val shouted as he stormed across the room, grabbing Meg by the arms and shaking her. "Will you stop being so damn giddy and tell me …"

"Do not shake me!" Meg shouted. "The baby!"

Val stopped shaking his wife, stunned. "What?" the word came out in several syllables.

Meg had the good sense to blush. "We are going to have a baby," she said and burst into tears. "We are going to have a baby!" Her words hung in the startled stillness of the parlor.

Val's delighted shout could be heard all over the elegant town home.

And while sounds of rejoicing echoed off the walls of a fine Paris town home, it was a deathly silence that echoed off the walls of a farm high in the hills over Grenoble.

"Are you sure about this?" Francois wondered, watching as Louis bent over Raoul, holding a cup to their hostage's lips.

Louis waited a moment, looking in the cup before straightening. "What else are we going to do?" He nudged Raoul's painfully thin hipbone with his heavy boot and received no response. "At least he is complacent." Louis patted Raoul on the head. "And quiet."

"But to keep him drugged like this," Francois shook his head. "I am just not sure it is the right thing to do."

"It is only every two days or so," Louis said as he turned around, "and it means that when our boss pays a return visit, we will not have to explain that Nico beat him one too many times and made him senseless. I do not think that is something he will wish to hear."

"But …" Francois tried again.

"But nothing," Louis interrupted. "The drug at this dosage only keeps him from functioning on his own. It is not hurting him and we can always say we just did it to make him ready for the trip to Spain." He gestured toward Raoul sitting eerily still and silent. "Once he is on that boat and we have our money, it will no longer be our problem what happens." Louis crossed the room to Francois, laying a friendly hand on his shoulder. "We will each have twenty thousand francs and we can disappear into the world."

Francois gave Louis a studious look. "And just where is he going to be going?"

"You think our boss would tell me?" Louis feigned aggrieved shock.

"I think," Francois emphasized the words, "that he tells you a good deal more than you are willing to tell us." He narrowed his eyes. "I think that – perhaps – I should be a bit more careful next time in who I befriend."

"I am sure that was Edouard's last thought as you pulled the trigger and blew his brains out." Louis smirked at him, hiding his thoughts behind that expression; he had underestimated Francois – the man could actually think and reason. It could prove dangerous.

Francois stood for a moment, stunned. "Goddamn you to hell!" he shouted at Louis and stormed off.

Louis was startled by the angry outburst and precious moments passed before he ran after Francois leaving Raoul still sitting motionless on the floor.

"Did you hear something?" Raoul wondered as he picked up shells from the pile he had collected, skipping them over the gentle waves.

"_No,"_ the little angel replied, tugging at his sleeve to get his attention, waiting for him to look at her. _"And you_ _should not listen."_

Raoul sighed. "I know," he said as he took the little angel's hand and walked her over to the fairy bench. "I know you told me it was safe here." The wind ruffled his pale blonde hair. "But there are times when I think it might be important that I go back." A puzzled frown crossed his face. "I think that if I do not go back, I may miss something."

The little angel swung feet that could not reach the sand back and forth. _"If you go back, they will continue to hurt you."_

"I do not want to be hurt again." Raoul admitted as he turned to the little angel seated next to him. "But what if I stay here forever? Are there not people who will miss me if I never come back? What about Philippe? What about Henri?" Raoul looked curiously at the little angel. "What about you?"

"_They all ready miss you more than you can ever know," _the little angel said.

"What about you?" Raoul wondered again.

"_I miss you every moment of every day."_ The little angel smiled brightly at Raoul. _"Yet I do not miss you for I carry you in my heart every moment of every day. I am going to promise you that on the day we get married."_

Raoul was taken aback. "Married?"

"_Of course, silly!"_ The little angel giggled and swung her feet faster. _"We are going to get married when we grow up and we are going to have lots of babies!"_

Raoul turned his attention to the rolling sea. "Baby," he whispered in a curious tone of voice for a child.

A worried look crossed the little angel's face as Raoul's attention turned outwards; she tugged at his sleeve and hopped from the fairy bench. _"Come catch me!" _she called as she ran down the beach.

"Wait for me!" Raoul called as he, too, hopped off the bench and began to run after her.

And out in the barn, Nico gently caressed the end of the long box he had slipped into the back of the cart that had originally brought Raoul and his captors to the house in the hills beyond Grenoble. He looked over it carefully, checking the sides, the ends, making sure that everything was in place. Once Nico was assured that everything was as it should be with his box, he turned his attention to the other things in the cart, his hands lingering lovingly over each item – a carefully coiled pile of rope, several long strips of material, a crowbar and a stoppered jug. Finally Nico turned his gaze to the house.

"Now it begins," he whispered and left the barn, making his way across the enclosed courtyard and into the house just in time to see Francois stomp down the stairs.

"What are you looking at?" Francois demanded, still angry at being reminded of his part in Edouard's murder.

Nico was careful to keep his emotions controlled, his tone of voice neutral. "Louis?" he asked.

"Who the hell else?" Francois shot back as he blew past Nico, heading into the kitchen.

Nico stared after him, unblinking. "How nice," he breathed and followed Francois.

"Damn that man!" Francois was muttering as Nico entered the kitchen. "Damn him all to Hell! How dare he constantly throw Edouard in my face!"

Nico crossed to Francois' side. "You do not wish him to hear you speak in such a manner," he told Francois, lowering his voice, making the moment intimate, pulling an unknowing Francois into his scheme. "You know he has a temper."

Francois grimaced. "All too well."

Nico nodded his head toward the cellar door. "Why do we not go down to the cellar and get a bottle of the wine that Louis keeps hidden there? Why should he have all the best of things? Why should he be the only one who gets to leave here to meet with our boss?"

Francois licked his lips. "Why indeed?" He grinned at Nico. "You are not half bad when you want to be."

Nico threw a comradely arm about Francois' shoulders. "You have no idea," he breathed, keeping his arm about Francois' shoulders as they reached the cellar door.

"To an afternoon of good wine," Francois said as he opened the door, turning to Nico, "for Edouard's memory."

Nico fixed Francois with a look that froze that man's soul. "For my toy," Nico hissed and shoved Francois into the gaping black mouth of the cellar before slamming the door closed and moving to the buffet that rested against one wall.

"Where the hell is Francois?" Louis demanded as he entered the kitchen.

Nico turned around, a glass in his hand. "Did you not hear the door slam?" He stared down into his glass. "He stormed through here, muttering words I could not understand and walked out the door, slamming it behind him. I do not know where he went." Nico finally raised his head, eyes unblinking. "I came to get a drink." He held out the glass. "You look like you could use it more than I."

Louis' face was twisted by emotions he could not even begin to name and he stared at the glass that Nico held out; he ran a hand over his face. "I could use a drink," he said and took the glass that Nico offered, his eyes suddenly narrowing. "What about you?"

Nico moved slightly aside so that Louis could see and turned back to the buffet. He poured amber liquid out of the dusty bottle that rested upon the buffet, filling an identical glass to that which Louis held. Nico smiled as he raised the glass. "See," he said. "A drink. Nothing more." His eyes remained unblinking, his face expressionless. "Nothing less."

"I could use this," Louis said as he tilted his head back and downed his glass in one long swallow, unable to see that Nico poured a portion of the liquid in his own glass back into the bottle on the buffet. Louis finally lowered his head, wiping a single hand over his mouth, holding out the glass. "More," he said simply as he settled into one of the kitchen chairs.

Nico was only too happy to oblige and lifted the bottle from the buffet, moving to the table in the middle of the kitchen and pouring another full glass for Louis before taking a seat on the opposite side of the table. "What happened?" He asked innocently.

"Damn stupid fool thinks he has the right to question my decisions," Louis said, his hand reaching for the bottle and topping off his glass. "I am in charge here! No one questions my decisions!"

"As I have learned," Nico breathed, smiling sweetly at Louis.

"You might want to tell that to Francois," Louis said and reached a hand to rest against his forehead. "Jesus, that stuff is vile."

"You have no idea," Nico said, fixing his unblinking eyes on Louis, drawing the other man into the pits of his madness. "You have no idea."

Louis began to rise to his feet, feeling his legs shake. "What the hell did you do?" he demanded as his hands reached for the table to steady his swaying body.

"My toy!" Nico said as he, too, rose to his feet. "Mine! No one takes away my toy!"

"The sleeping powder," Louis breathed as his knees began to give way. "Nico, you fool!"

Nico watched patiently as Louis' knees gave out and he collapsed to the floor, banging his head against the edge of the table as he did so. Nico stood still, unblinking, as he watched Louis' eyelids flutter as he struggled to keep his hold on consciousness; it was not long before Louis failed. Nico walked over to this still figure, kicking out at him. "My toy!" he hissed, raising his head and turning his attention to the stairs.

Slowly and deliberately, not wishing to rush the situation, wishing to enjoy every moment of his plan as it came to fruition, Nico climbed the stairs. He paused before the open door to the room where Raoul sat in a drugged stupor. Nico stared blankly at his toy, a decidedly nasty smile coloring his otherwise unreadable expression. Nico entered the room and crossed to Raoul's side, squatting down before him.

"Would you like to go for a little ride?" Nico asked.

There was no response from the man who had retreated into the safe harbor of his mind.

Nico ran his hands down Raoul's arms as if he were caressing a lover. "I think it is about time that we head home, would you not agree?"

Not even a blink of an eye to acknowledge the words that had come from Nico's lips.

"Perfect," Nico breathed and gripped Raoul's arms, bringing Raoul to his feet as he rose to his own. "I will help you down the stairs and out to the barn." Nico tightened his grip on one arm of the man who was proving to be unsteady on his legs after so many months of little use. He took his other hand and palmed Raoul's cheek, leaning in to breathe into Raoul's ear. "Time to pick up the mess and put my toy where it belongs."

Raoul stood silently.

"Come along," Nico chirped, his mood brightening, as he guided a drugged Raoul from the sparsely furnished room and down the stairs.

Nico did not even spare a backward glance for the figure slumped on the kitchen floor; nor did he spare a second thought for the one sprawled at the bottom of the basement stairs. All Nico's attention was focused on getting Raoul out of the house, across the courtyard and into the barn. It was slow going for the effects of the drug that Louis had given him made Raoul unable to function on his own; it made him the perfect toy. Nico kept hold of Raoul as they entered the barn, moving across the hay-strewn floor to the cart that awaited them. Nico finally stopped Raoul, turning him around and sitting him down on the three steps that permitted access to the cart.

"Now stay right there," Nico told Raoul in perfect seriousness as he reached into the cart and pulled out the jug, removing the stopper and placing the rim against Raoul's lips. "Drink a bit of this," he said as he tilted the jug slightly. "It is time to take a little nap."

Raoul did as he was told and swallowed twice, not noticing the liquid that dribbled down from the sides of his mouth.

Nico once again reached into the cart, replacing the jug and bringing out the rope. "I think a blanket would help keep you warm," he said as he wound the rope about Raoul's chest, pinning his arms to his sides.

Raoul could not feel as the knots were pulled tight.

One last time into the cart to pull out a strip of material. "And we would not want anyone to disturb you," Nico told Raoul as he gagged him.

Raoul did not care as he was rendered helpless and lifted to his feet.

"Up into the cart so that you can go to bed," Nico said as he helped Raoul mount the three stairs, following close behind. Nico smiled, knowing that Raoul could not see or acknowledge the object on the floor of the cart. "Time to crawl into the toy box," Nico said as he guided Raoul over the edge of the box, turning him around. "Sit down."

Raoul did as he was told.

"Lie down."

Raoul did as he was told.

Nico paused for a moment to admire his handiwork. "Such a good little boy," he said as he moved to the end of the box, pulling ropes from each side and tightening them over Raoul's legs. "We would not want you moving around and hurting yourself." Nico moved back to the top of the box, noting the fluttering eyelids on the supine man. "Not that you could anyway." He patted Raoul's cheek. "I must go for a few moments but I shall be back to tuck you in."

Nico left Raoul as he drifted off into drugged slumber, moving to the stalls where the two horses were kept. He walked them from their stalls and to the front of the cart. Nico whistled a tuneless melody as he placed their tack on, hitching them to the cart. He took the reins and walked the horses and cart from the barn and out into the courtyard. Once there, he stopped the horses, let go of the reins and moved to the rear of the cart, climbing back in.

"I said I would be back to tuck you in," he told Raoul, staring at him for a moment before reaching up and pulling the lid of the coffin into place, staring at Raoul's sleeping face through the hole he had cut through the top. "Pleasant dreams."

Nico hopped off the back of the cart, slipping the stairs into place, closing and bolting the door. He walked back to the front of the cart, climbing onto the driver's bench, picking up the reins and tapping them lightly against the horses' backs.

The tuneless melody returned to Nico's lips as the cart ambled through the courtyard and into the lengthening shadows of an autumn evening.


	55. Chapter 55

**Chapter Summary:** Philippe and Xavier talk over a chess game. Henri's resolve strengthens as he makes a final decision. Didier sinks deeper into his haunted depths, causing Monique to despair of him. Serge makes a decision and offers Tallis a chance to make one of her own. Christine makes a decision that delights Marie. And in a moving cart on a road from Lyon, Raoul awakens …

_**Author's Note:** "En Passant" is a French phrase for a special pawn capture. It means "in passing", and it occurs when one player moves a pawn two squares forward to try to avoid capture by the opponent's pawn. The capture is made exactly as if the player had moved the pawn only one square forward._

CHAPTER FIFTY FIVE

"I still hope you know what you are doing."

"And I wish you would stop thinking I am getting senile!"

Philippe and Xavier lounged in the library at Chagny in matching studded leather wing chairs. A table sat between the two chairs, rare woods inlaid in the top to form a chessboard. Exquisite ivory and ebony pieces were scattered about the board as Philippe and Xavier played a friendly game of chess and discussed future plans.

"I never said you were getting senile," Xavier said as he thoughtlessly moved a pawn forward one square.

Philippe studied his move and slipped one of his bishops forward. "It certainly seems that way to me."

Xavier moved another pawn forward. "I never meant for it to seem as such," Xavier replied with a sigh, reaching for a nearby brandy snifter and taking a small swallow. "I am just worried; I do not wish for you to find yourself in a situation where someone could take advantage."

Philippe placed his hand atop his castle and tapped it lightly. "You mean any number of young women." He thought twice about his castle and moved a knight forward instead.

"I mean any number of women – it does not matter if they are old or young." Xavier moved yet another pawn. "There were so many of them that threw themselves at Raoul and now that he is gone …" his voice trailed off.

"It is all right," Philippe assured his best friend. "I am not going to break down every time his name is mentioned." Philippe leaned back in his chair as he reached for his own snifter, holding it in his hands, inhaling the warm aroma the heat of his body generated. "And I am no fool; I know how many woman chased after my brother." He took a sip of the aged brandy. "I even think some of them chased after me!"

A half-smile turned up Xavier's lips. "I am sure of it."

"And now that Raoul and Christine are both gone, I need to remember what I owe this family," Philippe said and a grimace crossed his face. "I am certainly not looking forward to placing myself back on the marriage market for I thought that season of my life had passed me by." He managed a small laugh. "I am not looking forward to all the mothers of eligible daughters eyeing me as if I were a side of beef!"

Xavier tipped his brandy snifter in Philippe's direction. "Or eyeing your bank accounts."

"That, as well," Philippe muttered, staring at the chessboard. "I am not completely unaware of the consequences that will follow upon my decision." He put his snifter down and leaned forward, a hand reaching toward his chess pieces. "I know that there will be horrid harpies of mothers pushing forward their daughters, thinking it will be easy to take advantage because of the grief I still feel. Just as well, I know that there will be daughters who think seduction will be an easy way into my heart." He moved the same knight again. "Yet I am not the same man of the whispers and rumors."

"No, you are not," Xavier replied with a nod as he, too, leaned forward, returning his attention to the chess came. "You are much changed – older, wiser," he paused as he castled his king, "a bit more cautious."

Philippe was puzzled. "Have I changed that much?"

"Only to those that truly know you," Xavier said and nodded at the chessboard. "Your move. And do not fret yourself needlessly – the changes that have been forced upon you do not distract from the natural charm for which your family has been known."

"Please," Philippe said as he rolled his eyes, moving his knight forward again.

"And it is that charm which shall lead you into trouble," Xavier told Philippe as he moved a pawn forward. "_En passant_, my dear friend; and I capture your knight." Xavier picked the piece up, holding it in his hands, his fingers closing about it. "You should learn to take more care; consider this a lesson learned."

Philippe let out a long, disgusted breath. "Lesson learned," he replied. "It is a good thing, then, that you and Monique have agreed to accompany me to Paris for the season for I believe I shall need your chaperoning skills!"

Xavier leaned back in his chair, still holding to Philippe's knight. "It has been a few years," he said, a smile crossing his face. "We are quite looking forward to it. Does Henri plan to join our gathering?"

"I have no idea what the boy plans to do," Philippe had to admit. "He has been disappearing into the estate grounds more and more – almost as if he were afraid to remain in my presence. I am tempted to send him home to his parents."

"I am tempted to do the same with Didier," Xavier said. "I do not know what has come over him these last weeks but he has grown increasingly strange and barely speaks to anyone, preferring to keep to himself."

"Drinking?" Philippe wondered.

"I certainly hope not!"

"What are we to do with them?" Philippe asked.

Xavier shook his head. "I wish I knew."

"I wish I knew. I wish I knew. I wish I knew," Henri kept repeating to himself as he sat on the cool autumn ground, his back resting against his cousin's crypt.

There was no answer forthcoming, only the sound of the wind soughing through the changing leaves of the trees.

Henri closed his eyes and leaned his head back. "I may not get answer when I am here," he said softly, "but at least I am not hounded by questions that I cannot answer." Henri opened his eyes and reached for the silver flask on the ground at his side. He held it, unopened, in his hands as he stared out over the cemetery that held the history of his family.

"How did you do it, Raoul?" he wondered. "How did you manage to keep your grace and dignity with all those people watching? How did you manage to not falter under the weight of so much responsibility?" Henri stared at the flask he held. "Why did you succeed where I failed? What did you know that I do not?" Henri turned his head so that he was looked at the locked door to the crypt. "What do you know that you are now trying to tell me?" Henri's eyes closed and his hands tightened about the flask he held. "And why can I not hear you?"

Henri sat for several moments, a still figure under the autumn sunlight, a breathing disgraced angel in a cemetery full of cold, marble sentinels watching him from the past.

Despite the sound of the wind in the trees, the calls of migrating birds overhead, the rustlings in the shadowed woods, an eerie stillness hung over the cemetery. It moved past the monuments, unable to change what had been. It danced over the slowly dying grass, unable to change that which Nature dictated. It flowed into and through the slowly dying possibilities of a life unfulfilled, seeking out a home, a resting place, a place to fulfill its own destiny. It paused, hesitating against something that swelled up within those dying possibilities. And it fled as hands clutched tighter and eyes opened.

"Dammit all to Perdition!" Henri shouted as he rose to his feet and flung the flask from him, out over the cemetery. "Dammit, dammit, dammit," he sobbed as he fell back to earth, his knees, upraised, his head in his hands.

"I cannot do this anymore," he said softly as he raised his head. "I cannot wait any longer." Henri ran his hands through hair that so resembled the cousin's whose memory he battled. "I just cannot put this off, Raoul. I have to get out of here or I shall go mad and take everyone with me."

A blackbird flew down from high overhead and perched atop Raoul's fairy bench, opening its beak and squawking at Henri.

"Go. To. Hell." Henri spat from between clenched teeth, grabbing a clump of earth and flinging it at the bird, sending it soaring skyward again. He rose to his feet and turned to face the iron door of Raoul's crypt.

"I promise that not another drop of liquor will pass these lips until I can remember." Henri reached out a hand to rest against the cool iron door. "Not another drop until I can tell Philippe who was responsible for what happened." Henri sighed. "Until I can find Christine and your child and bring them home." He rested his head against the door. "Until I can put your soul to rest."

Henri stood silently for a long time, ordering his tumbled thoughts, gathering his misplaced courage, weaving together the tattered shreds of his dignity. He finally drew back, straightening his rumbled clothing, pulling himself upright, shoulders squared, head held high.

"I am going to go back to Chagny and pack my things," Henri whispered to his cousin's memory. "I shall leave at the end of week. I return to my parents and then I shall go to the manor in the high moors." Henri set his lips in a firm line. "And I shall not return until I am sober and ready to speak the truth." Henri laid a hand over his heart. "I swear."

Henri looked at his cousin's crypt, his eyes closing and opening once before he turned neatly on his heel and walked back toward Chagny, through the cemetery, feeling the oppressive weight of the centuries falling in his wake.

And in Cote-de-Vallee, the other young man who caused thoughtful concern in Philippe and Xavier sat quietly in an attic storeroom, staring out over the valley below.

"Didier?" a female voice called to him from below.

Didier shook his head, choosing not to answer.

"Didier?" the voice came again.

Didier closed his eyes in pain. "Please just go away," he said to himself.

Footsteps could be heard on the stairs. "Didier!" the voice came again, the tone anxious and worried.

Didier opened his eyes and looked to his side at the dust-covered dresser. He stared blankly at the small open box that had so recently been in his room. He swallowed back the nausea he felt as he stared at what remained of the clear liquid in the small glass vial. A trembling hand reached over and closed the lid, turning the key. Didier closed the open drawer of the dresser and returned his gaze to the window as the footsteps drew closer.

"Didier!"

"I am here," he finally called back, smelling jasmine wafting in from behind him, refusing to turn and look.

"Thank the Lord," Monique said as she paused in the doorway. "What are you doing here?"

Didier could hear the sudden angry tone in his cousin's voice but could not work up the courage to turn and face her. "I am seeking solace," he replied.

Monique took two steps into the room. "In the attic?" she wondered.

"Why?" Didier wondered.

"I am still awaiting an answer," Monique said and paused. "Why … what?"

"Why do you stay here?"

"I stay because I am married to your cousin."

Didier slowly rose to his feet but did not turn to face Monique. "Marriages end all the time."

Monique sighed. "I stay because I love him."

"Why?" Didier wondered as he finally turned to face Monique. "Why do you love him?"

Monique was taken aback by the haunted look on Didier's face and she crossed the room to him, placing gentle hands on his arms. "That is of no consequence!" she exclaimed. "What is happening to you? You are frightening me!"

"It is of every consequence," Didier replied softly. "Why do you love him? Why are there not any children? Why did he choose me as his heir? Why do you not leave?" Didier shook his head, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. "Why, why, why."

"I will tell you," Monique assured the young man to whom she held, "but I will not speak of it here, in the attic."

Didier pulled away from her. "I will not leave this spot until you do!"

"You are not making any sense!" Monique replied.

Didier grabbed Monique's arms, his fingers tightening, digging into her flesh. He pulled her close, staring deep into her eyes. "I know," he breathed. "I know." Didier could feel the woman in his arms stiffen. "No one ever thinks of the child in the corner, the little one who sees and hears everything." Didier drew a deep breath. "I know everything," he whispered, his eyes glazed and haunted. "I have always known."

"You know nothing!" Monique told him angrily.

"There will come a day when you will be thankful that I do know," Didier replied in a soft tone. "There will come a day when you will thank me for everything I have done," he finished as he let Monique go, unable to feel anything at the startled, frightened look his cousin gave him.

"I do not know you," Monique breathed, a hand going to her throat.

"Be grateful that you do not," Didier told her and turned from her, resuming his seat, staring out the window. He heard the sound of Monique's quick footsteps retreating from the attic, going down the stairs. "Be grateful that you do not," Didier repeated to himself as he placed his head in his hands. "It may be your saving grace."

Even as two young men struggled with themselves – one rediscovering the inner resolve that he lost, the other desperately holding to his, across the Channel another young man was listening to the voice of his own inner resolve. He was making a momentous decision as he strolled along the cliffs overlooking the Atlantic Ocean, as far below the tide pounded against the rocky coastline as it rose, continuing to push against the unyielding land.

"I really do believe it is the wise decision," Serge said, his arms clasped behind his back, to the woman strolling next to him.

Tallis pulled her shawl tighter about her chest as a strong wind blew in from the sea. "You are going to purchase Trevinny?"

A look of pleasure crossed Serge's face. "I am," he nodded in reply. "I find that I quite like the old home. It is not too large to get lost in yet it is not too small as to preclude guests. It is a perfect home and it is for sale." He paused, causing Tallis to do the same. "And I find I quite like this countryside." He laughed and smiled. "I come from a portion of Germany that is quite landlocked." Serge waved toward the ocean. "And the nearness of the water, the sound of the waves, the flatness of the moors – ah! It is all quite stirring!"

Tallis reached up to hold her hair in place. "I used to feel like that as a child when we would visit here." A frown creased her features. "But what of Ilse? What of your family?"

Serge resumed their walk. "Well, my family will understand the purchase of property – it is something they have always understood. And I shall present it to them as an opportunity to have a home in England where we can vacation during the summer months thus avoiding the more crowded beaches and lakes. As for Ilse," Serge sighed, "I do not know what to do. I love her; I shall always love her." He shook his head. "I am hoping that this time of separation will help to show her just how much she loves me."

"And if it does not?" Tallis wondered

"Then I will let her go and retreat to my new English home with my broken heart."

"It is not that easy," Tallis told him.

Serge stopped walking again, a stricken look passing his face. "Forgive me, Fraulein. I had forgotten that you, too, are suffering from the curse of love."

Tallis turned toward him. "Not a curse," she said with a shake of her head. "Never a curse." Tallis sighed. "But I am still in love with him. Much like you shall always love Ilse, I shall always love him." She turned her gaze from Serge out over the windswept moors. "Yet I am finding that you cannot outrun your heart for it is always within you – proclaiming your love with each beat. I am struggling to not run back to Paris, throw myself at his feet and make a complete fool of myself over him." Tallis turned back to Serge. "I do not deserve that."

Serge studied the determined resolve in Tallis' eyes. "No," he said softly, "you do not." Serge brightened. "And I have an idea as to how to help each of us in our resolve."

"What is that?" Tallis was curious.

"I am purchasing a large home," Serge began, "and I shall need someone to run it for me. I have a wonderful assistant who handles my funds but I shall need someone to oversee the functioning of my home." He smiled at Tallis. "Would you like the job?"

A look of amazement crossed Tallis' face. "Pardon?"

The smile on Serge's face broadened. "Do not be so surprised, Fraulein!" he exclaimed. "I know from speaking with the Baron that you managed his mother-in-law's home quite well and that she taught you much. Trevinny is not that much larger than Madame Giry's home in Paris." His blue eyes twinkled. "I think you would do an admirable job! And it would give you a place to call your own – for there is a lovely cottage on the estate. I would pay you a living wage and it would leave my new property in the care of someone I have quickly grown to trust." The look on Serge's face grew gentle. "I know you are intelligent and capable. I know you could do what I ask you with such capability!" He reached out for Tallis' hands. "What do you say, Fraulein Ordogne .. Tallis … will you do this for me?" His voice lowered. "For us?"

Tallis stood silently, biting her bottom lip, the thoughts racing through her mind visible in her gray eyes. She lowered her head in thought. "Yes," she whispered.

Now it was Serge's turn. "Pardon?"

Tallis raised her head, a genuine smile brightening her expression, twinkling up into her eyes. "Yes!" she exclaimed. "Yes! I would love to be your housekeeper!"

Serge heaved a sigh of relief, the smile on his face matching the one on Tallis'. "That makes me very happy!"

Marie, too, was happy and relieved and amazed. "They are so beautiful!" she exclaimed, her fingers reaching out to touch the fine satin dress that rested in a long box.

Christine smiled as she lifted another dress from a box and held it up before herself. "Are they not lovely?" she asked, her fingers moving over the front of the dark purple satin. "And the dressmaker made the front panel large enough so that I will not have to purchase any additional dresses for the rest of my time with child." Christine looked at all the boxes scattered on the floor of the parlor. "These should see me through until the baby arrives."

Marie smiled at Christine before turning to look back at the dresses. "And such pretty colors," she said. "I am glad to see you did not pick all black."

A frown momentarily creased Christine's features. "I had thought of that," she admitted, looking at the dark purple and green and blue and gray dresses, "but these colors are all so dark and I am tired of wearing black," her eyes looked at the lone black dress and Christine sighed. "I will mourn my husband for the rest of my life, I do not need to wear black to remind me to do so." She turned to smile at Marie. "I promise that I will only wear the colored dresses while we are at home." A single hand reached out for the baby who was busily fluttering away. "And I think colors make her happy." Christine laughed softly. "I wonder what Raoul would say to my breaking the social dictates?"

"I think he would be very happy to see you smile and laugh again," Marie told her, a small smile crossing her face. "I know that I am." The smile disappeared as Marie decided to – once again – voice her opinion. "But I do not think he would be happy about you taking his baby halfway around the world."

Christine shook her head. "Marie," she sighed. "That is something that we need to speak about."

Marie saw the look that passed over Christine's face. "Oh no," she said, her head beginning to shake. "Do not think to leave me here! I will not let you take Monsieur's baby without me coming along to help!"

"Marie," Christine began as she took the other woman's hands. "Come and sit with me for I have something to tell you." Christine looked down, barely able to still see her feet, as she walked over the boxes on the floor, guiding Marie to the loveseat where they sat down.

"I mean every word I say," Marie said. "I know you insist you are not a Vicomtess anymore but you are so I do not wish you to become angry for my speaking out of my place but …"

Christine laughed delightedly; it was a sound that had not been heard in months and it startled Marie into stillness. "That is just the thing," Christine told her. "I am still a Vicomtess!"

"What?" Marie was confused.

"I cannot run from my past," Christine told her, taking back a hand to rest over her child. "Nor can I deny my husband's memory or his family anymore."

"What are you saying?" Marie asked as the hope began to glow in her heart.

"I am saying that I am not leaving France," Christine said, a smile beginning to grow on her face. "I am saying that I am going to purchase this home. I am saying that I shall send a letter to Philippe telling him that I am still in France and that the baby and I are both well. I will send him another letter in December – shortly before the baby is due – telling him where I am so that he can be here when Raoul's child is born." The smile on Christine's face grew gentle. "Raoul may not be able to hold his child but she will be placed into the strong, gentle arms of another de Chagny. She will know her father's touch when she is cradled in her Uncle Philippe's arms."

Marie's mouth opened and closed several times before she managed to speak. "When … what … why …" she could not form a coherent sentence.

"When I first felt the baby move, something inside of me changed," Christine replied. "It was as if my soul had been set free." She shook her head slightly. "It was as if I finally shed the frightened child that I was and became the woman I should always have been." Christine's gaze grew distant. "There is a strength and determination blossoming within me that I never knew!" She sighed deeply. "I am just so sorry that Raoul is not here to share this with me," her hand traced gentle circles over her child, "with us."

"Why do you just not return to Paris or to Chagny? Why must you make the Comte wait?" Marie wanted to know.

A frightened look passed quickly over Christine's face. "I am afraid to travel, Marie; I nearly lost my child once, I am terrified of what a long trip may do!" The frightened look was replaced by one of quiet sadness. "And I would like a bit more time to myself, to learn how to deal with these new feelings, before I face Philippe and the hurt and pain I have placed within him." Christine turned her gaze toward the back of the house, toward the cliffs and the ocean beyond. "Finally, I want to have Raoul's child here – by the sea that he so loved." She turned back to look at Marie. "That means more to me than anything." She took back the hand that she had relinquished, squeezing both of Marie's hands gently. "Will you stay with me and help me, please?"

Marie let out a delighted squeal and embraced Christine. "Of course, I shall!"

And in the south of France, on the road between Lyon and Chagny, the man whose abduction and "murder" had caused all the changes in so many people was happily chasing his little angel along a deserted beach.

"I am all out of breath!" Raoul called to the little angel who was running down the beach.

The little angel turned around, smiling. _"We can play another game if you would like!"_ she called.

"I would like that!" Raoul replied as he turned to the gently rolling waves. "We can skip stones," he said as he walked into the water, reaching into it. "Or shells."

"_Raoul, no!"_ the little angel screamed as she ran toward him. _"Do not go into the water! I cannot bring you back if you do!"_

The water rolled and lapped about Raoul's knees as he turned to the little angel running for him, a puzzled look crossing his face. "What …?" he wondered feeling the rocking and rolling motion pulling him further and further out to sea, pulling him under the waves. "Angel!" he called out.

The little angel fell to her knees in the sand. _"Oh, Raoul,"_ she cried.

Raoul could hear his little angel calling to him as the waves tossed him back and forth, their power holding him tightly, motionless. He did not want to see the dark blue depths as they swallowed him whole but he could not avoid it and his eyelids slowly fluttered open. It was dark but not the blue darkness that he had expected. Raoul tried to draw in a deep breath and found his mouth firmly covered, his tongue snaking out, trying to push against the water …

It was not water.

Raoul's eyes snapped fully open, staring upward through a hole about the size of a head. Suddenly his breath grew rapid as his tongue felt material instead of water covering his mouth. Raoul's eyes traveled downward, seeing ropes about his torso and an interminable darkness that claimed the rest of his body. He struggled to move legs that refused to obey. Raoul turned his head from side to side, seeing the rough wood that encompassed him as a horrible thought began to filter through the drugged fog that was lifting from his mind.

And in the front of the cart, reins held lightly in his hands, Nico's acute hearing could hear the muffled screams from behind him, a smile crossing his face as the tuneless melody returned to his lips.


	56. Chapter 56

**Chapter Summary:** Nico continues his torment of Raoul in both actions and words. Louis awakes to find Nico and Raoul gone. Madame Giry tells Erik of Meg's news and presents him with a request from the parents-to-be. That request prompts a conversation about Tallis that seems to Erik a new insight. The police close in on the farmhouse where Raoul was held. And Nico closes in on something else entirely.

CHAPTER FIFTY SIX

It was unusually warm for an autumn evening; the full moon hanging low in the sky, so close a person could almost reach out and touch its scarred surface. The light from the moon shone brightly, nearly chasing the very stars from the heavens as it reached down to illuminate the Earth beneath. Its light shone nearly as bright as the sun as it highlighted grand houses and small cottages, sparkling over still waters and reaching into the dark depths of wooded glades. Yet the brightness of the moon could do nothing to penetrate the silvery fog that hugged close to the cool ground, dancing along in the darkness, thin tendrils reaching out to encompass the unwary that ventured into its path. The light could do nothing to penetrate the gypsy wagon that stood hidden in one of those wooded glades, the fog moving upward over the wheels as horses grazed quietly nearby. It could not see into the wagon where one man conversed while another listened – unable to do anything else.

Nico moved the wet blade of his knife upward from where it had penetrated Raoul's shoulder to caress his neck. "Anymore noises this night and you will find me quite capable of inflicting just punishment for your disobedience." Nico lifted the knife and waved it before eyes that were full of pain. "Do I make myself clear?"

Raoul did not answer fast enough for Nico's tastes and he found the tip of the knife pushing at the corner of his eye.

"Do I make myself clear?" Nico repeated softly.

Raoul managed a nod.

"Such a good boy," Nico whispered, as his hands reached down to cup Raoul's face. "Such a nice toy."

Raoul shuddered at the touch of those hands upon his face and froze as the knife suddenly flashed in the meager light offered by the oil lamp.

"What do you say?" Nico wondered as he lifted the cut gag away from Raoul's face.

"Why?" Raoul uttered the only thought that had been in his mind since he had awoken from the drugged sleep, pulled from his angel and tossed into a new nightmare.

Nico's knife pushed against the side of Raoul's nose. "They say your wife's phantom lover had no nose," he said in that strange singsong voice. "I wonder what she would say if you returned with no nose?"

"Thank you," Raoul managed - his voice hoarse from screaming and lack of water. He closed his eyes against this new world that he did not understand.

Nico put the knife down and tapped a single hand against the ropes covering Raoul's chest. "Did you not hear me?" he wondered. "Did you not hear me say that I you would be returned?"

Raoul's eyes snapped open. "What?"

Nico's eyes were wide and empty. "I am picking up the mess," he told Raoul. "I put my toy back in the box and now I am putting the box away."

"Let me out of here," Raoul croaked, his desperation evident, "please!"

"Oh no," Nico frowned at him. "No, no, no. You have to stay there till we get home."

The words Nico spoke finally penetrated the fear and panic clouding Raoul's mind. "Home?" he breathed the word hopefully.

"Home," Nico replied, his hands reaching up for the open coffin lid. "But everyone thinks you are dead and that means you have to go to a different home." He slowly began to lower the lid.

"No!" Raoul screamed. "Please do not! Please!" The lid fell into place and Raoul managed to raise his head enough to bang against it, the reverberating shock causing the new wound in his shoulder to pound unmercifully.

Nico climbed atop the coffin, stretching his frame out, his head resting near the opening that allowed Raoul to breathe. "I am going to stay the night right here," Nico said sweetly. "I must keep my toy company." His expression and tone of voice changed dramatically. "But if I so much as hear a squeak from you, I can promise my righteous anger shall be just and your punishment swift." Nico chuckled. "God remembers his catechism." He kissed the edge of the opening. "Nighty-night, sweet toy."

Raoul struggled to breathe through his tears, through the bonds about his torso that compressed cracked ribs and bruised lungs, fighting the urge to scream his panic to the surrounding night.

The long night slowly faded to day as the Earth turned. The moon set and the sun rose and a wagon began to move along the road to Chagny, drawing ever closer to its destination. The man in the back of the wagon had once again succumbed to the dark stillness of drugged oblivion. While in a quiet farmhouse high in the hills outside of Grenoble, life began to return to the man slumped on the kitchen floor.

Life began its return in the dry, sticky feeling of a mouth long held open during sleep. His mouth closed as he swallowed several times, generating saliva, chasing away the feeling of having a ball of yarn in his mouth. A tongue snaked out, moistening lips as senses slowly returned, reaching beyond the darkness, assessing the situation. The senses noted the ache of muscles and bones that had spent too long on the hard tile of the kitchen floor. The man winced as he began to move limbs, rolling onto his back, a hand reaching for his head as a new pain took precedence, demanding his attention. A single hand reached for his head, coming to rest against a bump the size of a small egg. Fingers tentatively explored the tender area and paused as they felt the tracks of something on the skin; it took but a moment for the fingers to make the connection – dried blood. And then the eyes shot open.

"Nico," Louis breathed as he quickly sat up, ignoring the world that spun about him. He managed to turn his head toward the staircase that was visible just beyond the doorway. "God damn it!" Louis managed as he got to his feet, swaying, a single hand reaching out to grab the table as he steadied himself, waiting for the dizziness to pass.

"Dammit, dammit, dammit," Louis said as he moved from the kitchen toward the stairs, his feet stumbling over themselves. He gripped the banister tightly as he pulled himself up the stairs. "If you have done anything stupid…" Louis muttered to himself as he reached the top of the stairs. He moved uneasily to the room where his hostage had been held, feeling his heart sink as he walked through the open door. _"Merde!"_ Louis shouted as he took note of the empty room.

He stumbled back down the stairs, having to pause once, his hand gripping the banister as a wave of dizziness and nausea washed over him. Louis barely waited for it to pass before he was moving back through the kitchen and out to the courtyard. His footing grew surer with each step and by the time he had crossed the courtyard to the barn, Louis was once again in control of his movements. He paused in the open doors of the barn, his eyes scanning the interior, taking note of the open stall doors, the missing horses, and the vanished wagon.

"God damn you to Hell!" Louis shouted, the effort causing his head to pound and he leaned momentarily against the barn door. "What the hell am I going to do?" he wondered aloud and turned around, looking at and through the open door to the courtyard. "Village. I can get a horse in the village," he muttered and walked back to the farmhouse.

Louis entered the house and moved back up the stairs to the room in which he had slept. He quickly pulled up the rug in the bedroom and lifted up one of the flooring planks beneath. Louis nodded to himself as his hands reached in and pulled out two pistols and a stack of money. He did not bother to replace the plank or the rug as he turned to the wardrobe behind him, removing a small peddler's sack from inside the wardrobe and slipping the guns and the money into it. He left the bedroom and went down the stairs, into the kitchen. He paused briefly to wet a discarded rag and ran it over his face, wincing as it contacted the bump on his head. Louis left the kitchen and gave a glance at his reflection in the hallway mirror. "It will have to do," he muttered and walked through the front door out into the courtyard. Louis passed through the courtyard gate and into the countryside beyond, walking down the road that led to town and not once did his thoughts stray to the missing man – to Francois.

Yet Francois – as well as Louis and Nico - were on the minds of the search parties that had gathered at a crossroads in the mountains. There were four different groups who met that morning at the crossroads, twenty different men each led by a ranking officer; they sat on horses, attention focused, guns at the ready. They held their mounts still; listening intently as Chief Inspector Pichette gave the morning's orders, Inspector Rousseau and Inspector Menard on either side.

"Gentlemen," Pichette began, "we have spent the last days divided into equal groups of four and have covered much ground." He raised his hand, a paper waving in the wind. "While we still have ground to cover in this area, it is not that much more; therefore, we will now divide into two groups – one under the lead of Inspector Menard, the other under Inspector Rousseau and myself." He turned to Inspector Menard.

"There will be one man in each group who will be designated as a runner," Menard began. "Should any sign of the men for whom we search be found, this man will be sent to notify the other group so that we can join forces." Menard turned to look at Rousseau.

"We shall proceed as before – searching each property listed on the sheet held by the lead inspector," Rousseau said and glanced at his watch. "Should nothing be found, plan to meet back at this point at four p.m. this afternoon." He turned to Pichette.

"Are there any questions?" Pichette wondered and waited for a brief moment as he scanned the faces of the gendarmes staring back at him. "Good." He tightened his grip on the reins of his mount. "Gentlemen, you know what needs to be done. Good luck to us all and Godspeed."

Twenty four men divided into two groups, one heading east under the direction of Inspector Menard; one heading west under the direction of Chief Inspector Pichette and Inspector Rousseau. The face of every man in each group was grim and determined; their minds focused entirely on the task before them – to bring justice to a family torn apart by deception, cruelty, lies and violence.

And in Paris, another family was on the mind of the woman who wore a smile and was utterly distracted from anything her guest had to say.

"Antoinette," Erik said, trying to get his friend's attention, "have you heard anything I have said over the last minutes?"

There was no answer.

"I said I am going back to Boulogne and I am going to drag Christine back to Paris where I shall take her into the ruins of the opera house and keep her there until we both die of old age," Erik said.

"That's nice," Antoinette told him as she put down her teacup and smiled at Erik.

"I am sure Christine will think so," Erik muttered.

A puzzled frown crossed Antoinette's face. "What did you say you are going to do with Christine?"

Erik threw up his hands. "Finally! I have your attention!"

Antoinette gave a small, self-derisive laugh. "Pray, forgive me," she replied, a smile crossing her face as she put her teacup down. Antoinette's sharp eyes surveyed the bright, sunny library in which she and Erik sat. Her eyes flashed over the books bound in various shades of leather. They lingered on the rich colors of the autumn flowers that had found their way in from her garden. "This is a comfortable room, is it not?" she wondered, half to herself.

"Very," Erik answered from where he sat perched on the highly polished piano bench. "But what has that to do with anything."

"You may have noticed that I have been a bit distracted."

"It had occurred to me," Erik grumped.

Antoinette sat up a bit straighter. "I shall not let your moods disturb me this day."

"When have they ever disturbed you?" Erik wondered.

Antoinette fixed Erik with a clear, twinkling gaze. "I am to be a grandmother," she announced, the smile on her face speaking volumes.

The perpetual glum moodiness on Erik's face quickly vanished to be replaced by a wide-eyed wonder. His mouth opened and closed several times as he struggled to find the words in the midst of his amazement. "I do believe that congratulations are in order," he finally said as he extended his hands to the woman seated across from him.

"Thank you," Antoinette said as she took Erik's hands and squeezed them lightly. "I am … I am…" Words failed her as the very private woman allowed her joy to overwhelm her senses.

Erik nodded a slight smile on his lips. "I can tell," he said softly. "I can see the joy this news brings to you. I imagine it brings the same joy to Meg and her husband."

"I did not think it possible for my daughter to be any brighter than she already is," Antoinette admitted. "Now I find that I was wrong." She sighed, the smile never leaving her face. "Meg is absolutely glowing! And Valery is so proud that I do believe he may burst from it!" The thought made the grandmother-to-be break into laughter.

It was infectious and Erik could not help but join in. "I do not believe I have ever seen you like this!"

Antoinette shook her head. "It is the joy of simply living," she told him, taking her hands back, one going to her mouth. "I nearly forgot!" Antoinette rose to her feet and moved through the pocket doors that led to her parlor. She returned with an envelope in her hands. Antoinette waved her hands at Erik and he moved over on the piano bench so that she could sit next to him; she placed the envelope into his hands. "This is from Valery," she told him. "It is a special request from him and from Meg – they would like you to compose a lullaby for their child."

Erik stared at the envelope in his hands as if it were a request for his soul. He turned a puzzled look to Antoinette. "A what?" he asked, his words coming out in a faltering stutter.

"A lullaby," Antoinette said. "It is a song used to lull children to sleep."

"I know what it is," Erik frowned. "I just … I do not … why me?"

Antoinette raised a hand and rubbed at her temple. "Honestly," she muttered under her breath and took one of Erik's hands in her own. "I think fondly of you – as does my daughter. Her husband holds you in some esteem. They are very proud and fond of the music you composed for their anniversary. Is it so far-fetched that they would ask you to compose a lullaby for their child?"

"Yes," came the one word answer.

"Why?"

"Because I know nothing of children," Erik told the woman seated beside him. "Because I do not have the time."

Antoinette knew him so well. "And…" she encouraged him.

Erik raised his eyes to look at the ceiling before turning them to look at Antoinette. "And because I am in the midst of composing my music for Tallis." He looked pained. "And I am finding it a damn hard task!"

"And why would that be?" Antoinette asked gently, wanting Erik to face his feelings, to face himself.

"Because she is at her parents and not here!" Erik told her. "Is it not obvious!"

"If you truly loved her," Antoinette began, "I do not think you would have any difficulty placing your feelings for her onto paper."

Erik was stunned. "How can you say that to me?"

"I am the only one who can," Antoinette replied and sighed. "I know you think you love her…"

"I do!" Erik insisted.

"Be still and do not interrupt," Antoinette told him, speaking as if he were a small child. "If you truly loved her, you would not have insisted on returning, time and time again, to Christine until her child was born. If you truly loved her, you would have placed her needs and her desires before your own. If you truly loved her, her happiness would have taken precedence over your own." Antoinette squeezed the hand she held. "You know how fond of you I am; yet I am not blind to your faults. You have been playing at being in love with Tallis while she has truly been in love with you. She never wavered in her devotion each time you returned to Christine. She encouraged you to follow your heart. She was your true friend, wanting for you what it was that you wanted for yourself."

A sudden fear gripped Erik's heart. "She is not coming back, is she?"

Antoinette found that she could answer him honestly. "I do not know," she replied. "I know that she wanted the time with her family to listen to her mind and to follow her heart."

Erik jumped to his feet. "I have to return to the garret!" he exclaimed, his thoughts racing behind his eyes. "I know what it is I must do." He raised Antoinette's hand to his lips. "Forgive me," he asked and managed a small smile. "And thank you!" And with those words Erik swept from the room.

Antoinette could hear the sound of her kitchen door opening and closing. She clasped her hands together and closed her eyes in prayer. "Dear God," she began, "give me strength for I do not know how much longer I shall be able to keep this secret." She opened her eyes and smiled. "And thank you for my grandchild. Watch over my Meg and her little family and keep them safe." Antoinette waited for a moment, her heart continuing to pray in words that she could not form, before rising to her feet and turning to look out the window. "I think I shall take this lovely afternoon to walk into town," she said to herself.

Late morning faded into afternoon as Antoinette enjoyed herself in the nearby park, watching the small children who played there, daydreaming about the time when one of those children would be clinging to her hand. And while Antoinette enjoyed her time in the park, hundreds of miles south, Chief Inspector Pichette was raising his hand, causing the search party who accompanied him to pause.

"Where are we?" he asked Inspector Rousseau, his voice tired.

Rousseau pulled papers from his jacket pocket, opening them, his eyes scanning the writing and drawings. He raised his head and looked about himself. He studied the landmarks – the woods with their changing leaves, the winding, mountain road the search party had been following. Rousseau listened and caught the sound of a stream hidden somewhere nearby. He returned his gaze, once again, to the papers before raising his head and pointing up the road. "There is a farmhouse at the end of this road," he said. "It is one of the last three on our list."

"Good," Pichette replied and glanced at his watch. "We have another two hours before we need to meet Inspector Menard and his men back at the crossroads." A frown crossed his face. "If our luck – or lack, thereof – continues to hold, we should have no trouble meeting that deadline." He turned to look at the men behind him. "Forward," he called out.

The horses made their way up the winding road in two columns. The horses that had been so complacent over the three days that the search had been conducted suddenly grew restless. They tossed their heads and snorted. Well-trained mounts danced sideways on the road, fighting the gentle control their riders exerted. Puzzled frowns crossed the faces of the riders who scanned the surrounding woods, searching for any movement, any sign of a predator stalking their movements.

Inspector Rousseau held up a hand and the line behind him ground to a halt. All eyes looked up the hill at the entrance to a walled courtyard. The gendarmes followed the lead of the Pichette and Rousseau and dismounted as quietly as possible. Three men moved through the group, gathering reins, moving horses into the woods. The other men gathered silently behind Pichette and Rousseau.

"You," Chief Inspector Pichette addressed his young inspector, "take three men and approach that gate from either side. Do not move in until you are sure there is no danger."

"Understood," Rousseau replied and waved for the three nearest men to follow him.

They moved cautiously up either side of the road as they approached the entrance built into the walled courtyard. The two groups of men stopped on either side of the entrance, hugging tightly to the wall. Inspector Rousseau nodded at the man opposite him and the man slowly stuck his head around the corner of the opening to gaze into the courtyard. It took but a moment before he pulled his head back, a puzzled look on his face.

"What is it?" Inspector Rousseau whispered across the short distance between them.

"The barn door is wide open," the man whispered back, "as is the front door. No movement."

Inspector Rousseau's lips set into a tight line and he turned back to the waiting men, waving them forward. He waited until they had reached his side before addressing Chief Inspector Pichette. "The doors are open and there does not appear to be any sign of movement. There is a barn and a house."

Chief Inspector Pichette nodded slightly and turned to address the men about him. "Two groups. One to the barn under Inspector Rousseau. One to the house under my direction. Anything – no matter how insignificant – could bear great importance." He was a man of few words when confronting the duty that was his life and expected those about him to be the same. "Go."

The police moved silently through the opening, guns drawn, half of them following Inspector Rousseau into the barn, the other half following Chief Inspector Pichette into the house.

Once in the small entry foyer of the house, Pichette waved his men into groups, trusting their abilities, knowing that they would do what was required of them. He barely looked back as the men split up, some going up the stairs, others down the hall and into the rooms that beckoned from the still foyer. Pichette took two men and moved into the kitchen, a sharp look coming into his eyes as he noted the overturned chair. The intelligence flared even brighter as Pichette approached the kitchen table, bending over to examine the edge and the strange stain there. He looked up as footsteps could be heard coming down the stairs and entering the kitchen.

"Sir," the gendarme said.

"Yes," Pichette replied as he looked closer at the stain, reaching out to finger it lightly.

"We found manacles and chains attached to the wall of one of the upstairs bedrooms," the man said.

Chief Inspector Pichette straightened suddenly. "What?" he replied as he turned.

"And blood," the man continued. "There appears to be blood on several surfaces of the room."

"Excuse me sir," a voice came from behind Pichette.

Pichette knew that voice and turned to face it. "Inspector," he addressed Rousseau cautiously as he noted the look on the Inspector's face.

"We also found chains and manacles in one of the stalls in the barn " Rousseau told him. "There was also a blood stain on the wall with blonde hairs stuck to it." He did not flinch at the look at crossed Pichette's face. "We also found evidence that horses were recently stabled in the other stalls." Rousseau drew a deep breath and swallowed. "There is also an iron box in the barn similar to those used to torture prisoners of war."

Pichette could feel his heart dropping in his chest but would not permit those in his charge to see such a thing. "It would appear that this is where Foucault and his cohorts went to ground. It would appear they have already selected another victim." He shook his head. "And it would appear we are too late."

The atmosphere in the kitchen grew silent at Pichette's words as every man there felt the weight of their efforts begin to collapse in upon them. And in that silence a small sound could be heard. It sounded weak, faint and distant. Rousseau was the first to hear it.

"Sir," he said, his brows creasing in a frown. "Listen."

Every ear of every man tuned into the distant sound, Pichette's eyes quickly sweeping the room. "The door," he breathed as he rushed to the door leading to the cellar, Rousseau on his heels. Pichette threw the door open, the light from the open door, the windows, barely illuminating the gaping black mouth of the cellar. Yet it illuminated enough.

"There is man down there!" Rousseau exclaimed as he followed Pichette down the stairs.

"Help me," the man sprawled at the bottom of the stairs pleaded weakly as the two inspectors stopped by his side. "My leg …"

The inspectors quickly assessed the man, noting the strange angle of one of his legs.

Rousseau turned his attention toward the top of the cellar stairs. "Get help down here now!" he ordered.

Pichette had not taken his eyes from the injured man. "Who are you?" he wondered and watched as the man closed his eyes and turned his head away.

And all through a day that had seen one man awaken to silent house only to desperately flee the silence, another man had acted out of a driven deliberation. Through an afternoon that had witnessed the rescue of a second man in the same house who had turned from his rescuers, another man did not turn his head from that for which he strived. This man had kept his purpose just as focused as that of the gendarmes who sought him. All through the purple twilight, the rising of the moon in the evening and into the dark embrace of the night, he had never faltered. He had moved with a purpose, seeking one object, never wavering from the certainty in his heart that what he was doing was needed and necessary.

He had never left behind a mess before and he was not about to do so now.

Finally, as a clock from the nearby village chimed out twice, the sound echoing over a valley steeped in the peaceful silence of a night's rest, Nico pulled back lightly on the reins of the horses pulling the gypsy wagon upon which he sat. He could see the end of his journey in sight, illuminated by the bright, full moon. Nico clicked his tongue and tapped the reins on the back of the horses, turning the cart right into the long lane.

And he smiled as the steeple barely hidden behind the curve in the road drew ever closer.


	57. Chapter 57

**Chapter Summary:** The police discover who it was that they rescued from the bottom of the cellar stairs and what he tells them sends them racing through the night. Nico returns Raoul "home". Christine has a very vivid, very frightening nightmare. Henri chides Philippe on his trusting nature. While at Raoul's crypt Henri finds himself suffering from auditory "hallucinations". And inside the crypt Raoul hears every word while Nico has some words of his own …

CHAPTER FIFTY SEVEN

The coach raced through a night that was slowly beginning to yield to the inevitable rising of the sun. Beyond the closed shades on either side of the black coach, the dark sky was slowly lightening, shades of pale pink fading upwards into lavender, purple and finally the black of the uppermost reaches of the heavens. The black where the full moon still held sway, illuminating the world below almost as if the bright orb hoped to maintain its dominance over the peaceful stillness under its control. Yet the moon could not fight the force of Nature and was already starting to fade beneath the onslaught of a new day. And behind those closed coach shades two men sat, one with fingers curled into fists to stop their nervous drumming; the other still, silent, complacent hiding his nervous anxiety behind his calm demeanor.

Inspector Rousseau heaved a great sigh and slowly began to unfurl his fingers and thought better of it.

"I thank you for not drumming your fingers upon the seat," Chief Inspector Pichette told him in a soft, even tone of voice.

"I did not think it would aid the situation in any manner," Rousseau replied and raised his eyes toward the hatch in the roof of the coach. "Can this thing not go any faster?"

Pichette heard the irritated tone of his favorite inspector and fought to keep the same tone from his voice. "It shall go as fast the driver can urge the animals," he said evenly, rather amazed at his self-control under the circumstances. "The only way to get to Chagny faster would be to fly."

"Would that we could sprout wings," Rousseau muttered.

"Would that we could, indeed," Pichette said softly, turning his head toward the closed shade, his thoughts toward the previous afternoon …

"_What is his condition?" Pichette asked the doctor who emerged from the hospital room._

_The man Pichette and Rousseau had found on the floor of the farmhouse in the hills had been removed from the bottom of the cellar stairs. A police officer had found a discarded hay cart behind the barn and the injured man had been placed upon it, the cart attached to two of the horses. The man had been in great pain during the trip back to Grenoble, his words muttered and slurred and the inspectors could make no sense of what he said. The man had been conveyed to the small local hospital and delivered into the care of the physicians. Now the inspectors, joined by Inspector Menard, awaited word on the man's status._

_The doctor shook his head. "It was certainly a nasty tumble he took," he said. "I have reason to believe he has suffered a slight concussion of the brain and we have had to set his broken leg."_

"_Will he live?" Pichette asked, the younger inspectors deferring to his rank._

"_Most certainly," the doctor assured them._

"_May we speak with him?"_

"_For a few minutes only," the doctor replied. "We have had to give him something to ease the pain from his leg and he may only be coherent for a few more moments."_

"_Long enough," Rousseau said between clenched teeth as he and Menard followed Pichette into the room._

_The injured man lay in bed, his leg now straight, braced and tied. His skin was flushed and his eyes held a slight glaze yet he managed to look away as the police approached his bed._

"_We know you to be one of four men who abducted and murdered the Vicomte de Chagny," Pichette began, ignoring the shocked intake of breath from the doctor and the nurse who hovered discreetly in a corner of the room. "Which one are you and who was the new victim whom you held in the farmhouse?"_

"_Edouard," the man on the bed said, his eyes closing briefly before opening as he turned to look at the ceiling. "Edouard is dead. He never knew." The man's head shook. "He only thought we were taking him for the money. He never knew he was going to die."_

"_Who never knew?" Pichette asked._

"_Edouard never knew he was meant to die in the …" The man on the bed momentarily stopped speaking as his eyes closed. "Edouard never knew."_

"_Who are you and where are your compatriots and your victim?"_

_The drugs used to kill pain were beginning to take effect, loosening self-control. "Francois," the man on the bed finally admitted and opened his eyes to look at Pichette, quailing slightly under the Chief Inspector's stern gaze. "I do not know where they are. Nico shoved me into the cellar saying the toy was his. I never saw Louis."_

"_Who and where is your latest victim?" Pichette demanded, his tone of voice brooking no defiance._

_Francois' eyes were quickly glazing over and he turned from the stern inspector, seeking a friendlier face. He found it in Inspector Rousseau. "Only one victim," he breathed, his eyes closing. "Edouard died in the explosion." Francois licked his lips and swallowed. "The Vicomte is still alive …"_

"Would that we could sprout wings." Chief Inspector Robert Pichette reached over and raised the shade covering the coach window, staring outside before looking down at his pocket watch. "Can this thing not go any faster?"

Faster was not one of the words in Nico's vocabulary; he moved with deliberate slowness, conscious of every move he made, every breath he took. He looked at the horses tethered by the side of the stream and nodded; they would be safe with grass to graze upon and water to drink – he would need them in a few days. Nico turned his gaze toward the wagon that stood hidden carefully in the woods and nodded. No one ventured this way anymore – of that he was certain. A smile twisted his lips as he thought of why his horses and his cart were safe hidden along this long-forgotten trail, pleased at his part in that reason. And then Nico turned on his heel and moved silently through the shadows of the woods. He knew exactly where he was going and did not hurry, each footfall placed exactly in front of the other, his unblinking eyes fixed on an invisible object. The smile on his face faded as the intensity in Nico's eyes grew – the longed for object slowly coming into sight. Nico's eyes seemed to glow in the soft morning light as he surveyed his work from the night before.

The signs of the cart – parallel tracks in the gravel, the grass, had been carefully covered over, all signs of anything having been there in the middle of the night long gone. He looked toward the woods as the sound of a horse could be heard. Nico tilted his head at an odd angle and listened, his head straightening as he satisfied himself that the sound was just another common occurrence of a valley and its people waking to face another day. Nico turned his attention to the object next to him, a single hand reaching out to caress the cold iron door as if it were a lover. His sharp eyes looked carefully at the seam between the iron and the stone, searching for any faults, any signs that it had been opened and was now no longer locked. Nico chuckled to himself as he could find no fault and he slowly opened the door and entered the crypt, quietly closing the door behind him.

He stood silently for a moment in the reflected red light from the Presence lamp. Nico's eyes narrowed at the lamp and he nodded satisfied that there was enough time to accomplish what needed to be done before someone would come to renew the oil in the lamp. Nico then turned his gaze to the elegant wooden box that rested on a stone bier beneath the Presence lamp. He sidestepped the object on the floor and approached the bier, reaching out to touch the box, the long dead calla lily that rested on its top surface.

"Poor, poor Edouard," he tsked. "Must have been so lonely in here all by yourself." A strange smile grew on Nico's face. "But you will not be lonely for much longer."

Nico turned to face the object that rested upon the cold stone floor at an awkward angle. It had been rather difficult for one man to slide the object down the plank from the wagon and into the crypt but Nico had been determined and there had been nothing in Heaven – or Hell – that would have deterred him. Now he walked to the object, bending over and slowly raising the lid. Nico stared down at the man in the coffin, drugged, bound and gagged and he knew it was time. Nico fell to his knees beside the coffin and reached in smack Raoul on the cheek; he received a barely audible moan in response. Nico repeated his action a bit harder. And harder still. He hit Raoul harder and harder until Raoul's eyes slowly blinked open.

"Welcome home," Nico said as Raoul's eyes focused on his surroundings.

The muffled scream was barely audible beyond the unlocked iron door.

Yet the screams coming from behind another closed door could be heard. They echoed throughout the house lit by the dim morning light. They could be heard through the closed door of a bedroom, startling a young woman awake. Her eyes flew open, hazy from sleep, her expression confused. It took only a moment for her to gather her bearings, realizing what it was that had so abruptly pulled her from sleep. Marie quickly tossed aside her blankets – and ignoring the dressing gown on a nearby chair – flew from her room and across the hall. She did not even knock at the door to the other bedroom but burst through it. She paused but a moment in the open doorway before rushing to the side of the bed.

"Christine?" Marie asked as she sat down, hands reaching out.

Christine had both hands over her mouth, tears streaming down her cheeks and she was trembling.

"What is it?" Marie's expression was worried and concerned. "Is it the baby? Do you wish me to call for a doctor?"

Christine could only shake her head, her chest heaving. Her fingers spread wide and Christine drew a deep breath. "Raoul," she breathed and broke into deep sobs, her hand going over her eyes.

"Christine," Marie said softly and took Christine's hands in her own. "Let me help you sit up." Marie drew Christine into a sitting position before wrapping her arms about the other woman, feeling Christine's head go to her shoulder as she continued to cry. Marie held Christine for a few moments, rubbing her back, allowing her tears to be shed, before speaking. "What happened?" Marie wondered.

"I am sorry," Christine said as she drew back, wiping the tears from her face before reaching down to caress her child. "I had the most awful nightmare and I knew I woke up screaming but I could not stop." She shook her head. "I did not mean to frighten you, as well."

"Do you wish to speak about it?" Marie asked.

"It was so dark," Christine said, her eyes dropping, a frown creasing her brow, "and I could hear noises and I followed them." Her tone grew haunted. "I came up against a window and I could see Raoul lying on a bed and he was not moving." Christine's eyes opened wide. "And I could see our baby on his chest and she was crying and I could not reach her. I could not reach her! Then someone grabbed me from behind and said the baby and Raoul would be together forever. Oh, God," Christine raised her head and gripped Marie's arms tightly. "And the baby and Raoul turned into skeletons and I could hear them calling out for me – for my help. But I was pulled away and someone was laughing and …"

"Shhh," Marie tried to calm Christine. "It was only a dream."

"It was so real," Christine whispered. "So real."

"Is the baby all right?"

Christine nodded. "I can feel her moving." She managed a slight smile. "I do not think she is very happy with me at the moment, though."

Marie rose to her feet. "You stay here and I shall go downstairs to make a pot of tea that I shall bring back." She studied Christine. "Are you certain there is nothing wrong?"

"At the moment, yes," Christine replied. "I just need a few minutes." She managed a smile. "And some tea?"

Marie smiled back. "I shall not be long." She turned and walked out of the room, careful to leave the door open behind her.

Christine swung her legs over the side of the bed, a hand reaching up to push the tangled mass of hair from her face. She sat on the edge of the bed, breathing deeply to settle her still rattled nerves, feeling her child fluttering at odd angles, demanding her attention. Christine reached both hands down to her swollen abdomen, lightly tracing the movements of the baby, feeling the anxious fluttering begin to slow, to become the gentle movements she had grown to know.

"I am sorry little one," she whispered. "I did not mean to frighten you, as well." Christine drew several deep breaths, her hands growing still and settling over her child. "And your father would never let anyone hurt you. He would do everything in the world to protect you and keep you safe." She sniffled, "Just as he did for me." A sad smile crossed Christine's face. "I know that the minute he would hear you cry or fuss, he would be at your side, lifting you into his arms, calming your fears and sorrow. And your father would tell you wonderful stories to make you laugh and sing you to happy dreams with his sweet voice." Her gaze drifted out the window as her child fluttered gently under her hands. "I wonder if your Uncle Philippe sings."

At that moment, Uncle Philippe did not feel like singing; he only felt disappointment as he stood in the doorway of Henri's room surveying the mess scattered all about the room. The gas lights were turned on low to aide the early morning light that had begun to illuminate the bedroom, the clothes neatly stacked on every surface, the open trunks and the young man who sat on the edge of the bed staring at it all.

"Are you certain this is what you want to do?" Philippe wondered yet again, knowing that Henri must surely be as tired of hearing the words as he was of saying them.

Henri turned his head to look at Philippe, a resigned look on his face. "I must," he said simply.

Philippe walked into the room and perched on the edge of the window seat across from Henri. "I do not understand. I wish you could make me understand. I thought you were coming to Paris with me for the season."

Henri managed a slight smile. "Perhaps I shall join you in Paris after the turn of the year," he said and shrugged. "Or perhaps I shall just get snowed in at the manor; the weather on the high moors is notoriously dreadful this time of the year."

"I have lost my brother," Philippe began. "I have lost his wife and child. My dearest friends in the world think I am becoming senile and now you are leaving and will not say why." He let out a disgusted sigh. "I want someone to explain something to me!"

"Philippe," Henri began and hung his head, unable to bear the hurt in his cousin's eyes, unwilling to let Philippe see what lived in his own, "you know that I am the family scoundrel." Henri shook his head. "I am a womanizer, a drunkard and a reprobate. The saddest thing is that it took Raoul's death for me to finally face myself." He laughed – a bitter, degrading sound. "Raoul was the only one who – I think – ever really saw the good in me. And now I need to find that good. I need to sober up. I need to search my heart and soul." Henri lifted his head. "I need to exorcize the ghosts that haunt me."

"I am proud of you for wishing to do so," Philippe assured him. "And I am certain your parents will be, as well. Yet that does not help me to understand."

Henri snorted. "You are a good person and far too trusting and that is why you do not understand."

A perplexed look crossed Philippe's face. "Pardon me?"

"Philippe," Henri said with a shake of his head. "You are a good person and you think everyone else around you is the same." Henri rose to his feet and laid a hand upon his cousin's shoulder. "And should I be the one forced to disillusion you of such a fool notion, I wish to be as sober and calm as a priest when I do." Henri walked out of his bedroom, leaving a stunned Philippe in his wake.

Henri walked down the grand staircase, turning to move down the hallway that led to the back portico. He passed through the French doors and out into the cool autumn morning. He did not spare any glance – either backward or sideways – for the passing landscape as he moved over carefully tended paths. Henri knew where he was going and walked rapidly, his heart beating faster and faster with each footfall. He inhaled in through his nose and out through his mouth, feeling the crisp air sting at his lungs, the scent of a dying year somehow invigorating. It took less than ten minutes for Henri to reach his destination and his eyes misted over as he stopped outside of Raoul's crypt, turning and sitting down by the iron door. Henri raised his eyes to the sky, closing them as he heaved a deep sigh.

"Raoul, what am I going to do about Philippe?" Henri asked and lowered his head. "I may be a drunken louse but he is a fool." Henri turned his head toward the door. "I am hoping that when I get sober this damn vision you have sent to haunt me will turn out to be nothing more than drunken wishes. I am hoping that this damn cross will vanish along with the image of the person who wears it." Henri drew a deep shuddering breath. "I do not want to break Philippe's heart. I do not wish to destroy his illusions of the world." His voice was unsteady. "I have all ready destroyed Christine's illusions of the kind of man I was. I would never have hurt her; I would never have done anything." Henri ran a hand through his hair. "She is so like Philippe – so trusting, seeing the good in everything."

Henri slowly rose to his feet, turning toward the door, resting his hand against it. "But we know differently, do we not?" Henri's tearful emotion could be heard in his tone of voice. "Well, I have always known the world is not the wonderful place most people think it. And you learned that lesson far too late. I just hope that I can straighten my life out quickly enough so that Philippe does not suffer the same fate as you." Henri smiled. "Do you know he is going to Paris to try and find a wife? Is that not passing strange?" Henri grew solemn. "I think if he knew where Christine and your child were living, he would not feel so pressured. It is that pressure, that need to perpetuate this family line that will be his undoing. It is what I must prevent."

There was a moment of silence as Henri leaned forward, resting his head against the cool door. "I promise I will find Christine and your child and bring them home. I promise I will keep them safe. I promise I will keep Philippe safe. I will not let anything happen to the family that you loved." Henri straightened. "Even if it costs me my life."

A muffled, strangled cry rang in Henri's ears.

"Is it not enough that you send me visions," Henri said, his voice raised. "Must you now answer me, as well!" Henri closed his eyes in pain. "I will take care of your family," he said through clenched teeth. "I promise! Just give me some time!" Henri's eyes opened and his tone grew soft. "I just need some time, Raoul; just some time."

Henri turned and began to walk away from the crypt, through the cemetery, when another sound - more clear, more real - assailed his ears. Henri shook his head, picking up his pace and clasping his hands over his ears as a pained screamed rang through the still morning. "Give me some time!" Henri screamed at the top of his voice.

"You heard him," Nico said inside the tomb as Henri's words filtered through the slight space between the door and the stones. He withdrew his knife from where he had planted it in Raoul's thigh, trailing the point upwards along Raoul's body until it rested at the pulse point in his neck. "He just wants some time."

"Do not go," Raoul breathed, his throat painful, his tone desperate and pleading. "Please do not go." He winced as Nico pushed the point of the knife into his throat.

"Did I give you permission to speak?" Nico wondered and he flung the knife away, placing his hands over Raoul's mouth, staring down into his victim's face. "I do all the speaking." He grew still, his blank eyes staring into blue ones full of pain and desperation. "Did you ever wonder how long it takes before a person dies from lack of water?" Nico wondered and chuckled. "We are going to find out."

Raoul tried moving beneath Nico's hands and Nico exerted more pressure to hold him still.

"We are going to stay here and you are going to listen to your family and friends as they come to pay their respects to you," Nico told him, watching as the tears gathered in Raoul's eyes. "They will never know you are here, of course; but you will listen to them as you lay here dying."

Raoul managed to shake his head back and forth slightly.

"Oh yes," Nico purred. "You will die and then it will no longer be a lie that you rest here." Nico smiled, an eerie and strange thing. "And when you have finally gone to your rest, I shall leave to find your wife." He lowered his head closer to Raoul's. "I shall find her – I always find my toys – and then I shall bring her and your child here. I shall return them to you." Nico chuckled. "Would you not like that?" He raised his hands.

"Do not touch her," Raoul croaked, the thought of his angel in trouble momentarily chasing all other thoughts from his mind.

Nico's hand flashed out and closed around Raoul's throat. "I am God!" he declared. "I shall do what I wish!" Nico turned his gaze from Raoul to the glowing light of the Presence lamp. "I shall find your wife and child and bring them here. I shall give your child to you for I know you would like that. I will rest your child on your chest and your wife and I shall sit and watch as your child finds eternal rest with its father." Nico turned back to look into Raoul's stunned eyes. "Then I shall take your wife with me and I shall play with her until I tire of my new toy." His voice took on that strange sing-song quality. "And who knows how long that will be? Perhaps, someday you shall find her in Heaven." Nico removed his hand from about Raoul's throat, listening to the desperate intake of air. "Or not." Nico smirked. "It all depends upon how good of a toy I find her to be!"

"Do what you want with me," Raoul managed as he struggled to even out his breathing. "Kill me, watch me die." His voice cracked. "Just do not hurt them. Please!"

Nico reached into his pocket and pulled out another gag, wrapping it around Raoul's mouth, finding it easy to control the struggles of the weaker man. When he was done, Nico patted Raoul's cheek as if he were caressing a well-loved child. "I shall do what I want with you," Nico told him. "And I shall do what I want with your wife and child for I am God." Nico straightened and looked down at Raoul, his hand reaching for the coffin lid. "And God always does as he pleases!"

Nico let the coffin lid slam closed over the man desperately struggling against his bonds, frightened tears falling down his cheeks.


	58. Chapter 58

**Chapter Summary:** Erik sits down at his piano to play the music he has composed for Tallis and an unseen Maestro weaves Erik's tune through the lives of others …

_**Author's Note:** I think I had better give a _**"Tissue Issue"**_ warning with this one as it does get a bit weepy at toward the end. Consider yourselves warned!_

CHAPTER FIFTY EIGHT

Erik sat at his piano, the morning light coming in through windows that did not need to be protected against the world outside. Papers no longer lay scattered about him but were stacked in neat, orderly piles all around the piano bench's legs. Above the keys, leaning against the backrest, more papers were spread out from one side of the piano to the other, small black bug-like shapes dancing from one paper to the next in never ending motion. Sharp eyes followed those movements, searching for any fault, anything that would mar the perfection. He listened to the movements blend, each flowing into the other, creating a whole. Satisfied with what he saw, what he heard, Erik sat a bit straighter on the piano bench, poising his fingers over the keys. He paused for a last moment of introspection before his fingers lowered, lovingly caressing the ebony and ivory, the somber tones of a requiem, a goodbye, beginning to filter through the garret…

Christine slid the rocking chair along the floor of her bedroom toward the small trunk that rested against one wall. She let out a long breath through pursed lips when she had the chair in place, a hand going to the stitch in her side. "That was more work than I thought," she said softly, holding to the back of the chair for one moment longer before moving to sit in the chair. She reached up and lifted a chain from about her neck, slipping the key at the end of the chain into the chest and unlocking it. Christine heaved a deep sigh as she looked at the contents. "Oh, Raoul," she breathed as she surveyed what remained of her dreams.

Christine reached in to touch the ivory sweater, pulling it up and holding it to her face. She frowned slightly, the spicy scent that would draw her back to happier days, beginning to fade away. Christine placed the sweater over her child and once again reached into the chest, pulling out a pair of gray kidskin gloves, slipping them over her own hands. "I had forgotten how small my hands were when in yours," she said a frown momentarily creasing her brow. Christine clasped her hands together. "And how safe they felt there." She kept the gloves on as she continued to gaze into the chest.

So many little momentos, so many memories.

A tiny book of Shakespeare sonnets that had always been carefully packed into their picnic hamper.

A shaving kit that Raoul had allowed Christine to use on him, all the while swearing she was trying to lovingly do him in.

A hairbrush with gold and chestnut hairs tangled in the bristles spoke to peaceful evenings spent chatting behind the bed curtains, hands tangled in each other's hair.

A dark blue - nearly black - hair ribbon that had been part of a masquerade costume.

Christine sighed and took the gloves from her hands, tucking them back into the trunk. She lifted the sweater and folded it before placing it gently atop the other things in the trunk. She reached down to caress her precious butterfly. "It will be all right," she whispered, unsure of whom she was reassuring – her child or her self. "And someday you and I shall sit in a sunny room and look through these things and I shall share my dearest memories of your father."

She closed the lid of the trunk and turned the key one last time. Christine kept the key in her hand as she pushed herself up from the rocking chair and went to the dresser. She opened the top drawer and took out the small velvet box that had held the Saint Joseph medallion, slipping the key into the box and placing the closed box in the back reaches of the drawer. Christine closed the drawer and looked out the window at the ocean that was rolling away under the winds of autumn.

"Time to say goodbye forever," she whispered as a hand moved gently over her child. "Time to let the past go. Time to let your father rest in peace. Time to look forward." Christine sniffled. "I can only hope that someday you will find someone who will be that gentle and that good and that loving to you." Christine laughed and looked down as her child poked at her a bit harder than normal. "I take that to mean that you wish such a thing, as well!" She smiled. "Just do not grow up too quickly," she said. "Slowly, please. Slowly."

… Slowly the sad music that Erik coaxed from his piano turned a bit brighter. It was a subtle difference as minor chords left their flats behind dancing forward to the next note in progression. The slow, somber pace of the requiem continued as the music began to hesitantly explore a new facet. It reached out - searching, probing, wondering – as it found new territory. A ghost of a smile passed over Erik's lips, pleasure at the effect he created rising within his breast…

Antoinette looked at her daughter sitting beside her on the sofa. The mother took note of Meg's fashionable hat perched at a saucy angle and the uncertainty in blue eyes. Antoinette put her teacup back on the silver tray and laid a hand upon her daughter's knee. "Do you wish to speak of it?" she asked.

Meg turned to look at her mother and smiled slightly. "Am I going to be a good mother?"

"Oh my dear child!" Antoinette exclaimed with a laugh, sobering somewhat at the look on Meg's face. "That is a question each and every mother has asked since the Garden of Eden." Antoinette patted Meg's knee. "You will be a wonderful mother." She turned to look over her shoulder at the man standing by the window. "And Valery shall be a wonderful father."

Val turned to smile at his mother-in-law. "Thank you," he said. "Such reassurances coming from you mean a great deal." He walked over, placing his hands on the back of the sofa. "We have not yet told my own mother."

That statement earned a look of reproach from Antoinette. "Do you think such an action is quite wise?"

"We just want to be certain nothing happens before we tell her," Meg said.

"And we want to enjoy this time a while longer," Val finished as he placed a loving hand on his wife's shoulder.

"You know," Antoinette said, "you begin to sound like Christine."

Meg sighed. "And that is another thing – Christine and I always planned on our children being the closest of playmates and friends. How is that going to happen when she shall be halfway around the world and not just a short carriage ride away?"

"I think that Christine shall yet surprise us all," Antoinette said, a wise little smile playing at the edges of her lips.

"Tallis certainly surprised us," Val muttered. "As did Serge." He looked at Antoinette with curiosity. "Do you have any idea why they acted as they did? I would never have expected such behavior from either of them!" He paused in thought for a moment. "You do not think they…"

"Most certainly not!" Antoinette interrupted him. "I do not think any such a thought entered either of their minds!"

"Good," Meg said.

"That is a surprise coming from you," Val said to his wife.

Meg pursed her lips. "I just think that Tallis should follow her heart and we all know where her heart lies."

"We do," Antoinette agreed with a nod, "but that does not mean it is always wise to listen to your heart. There are times when it is much the smarter thing to heed that small voice that speaks so softly in our minds. Should there come a time when you realize that the person you love cannot see beyond their own heart, then you must let them go."

"Oh Maman," Meg said reaching out for her mother's hand as her husband's hand gently squeezed her shoulder. "Poor Tallis," she breathed, "and poor Erik."

… Erik closed his eyes and let his fingers dance over the keys as the music moved forward from its hesitant beginning. It picked up pace, adding a lightness in the grace notes carefully scattered throughout. He drew a deep breath to steady a heart that began to dance along with the music. Erik could feel her touch as his fingers played out her life on the keys. He could see her in his mind's eye, the gray of her eyes that sparkled like the first evening star, the gold highlights in her hair that reflected the sun, the warmth of her smile, the heavenly sound of her laughter…

Echoing in the silent stillness of the great house, Tallis' laughter rang like that of fine crystal until she clapped her hand over her mouth, gray eyes twinkling merrily. "Pardon me," she managed between her fingers.

Serge smiled at her, his delight written all over his face. "For what, Fraulein?" he asked. "For bringing such a wondrous sound to this long-dead house?"

Tallis blushed as she lowered her hand. "For making such a commotion," she said. "There are times when I forget myself. It is deplorable and I am sorry."

Serge took one of Tallis' hands and bowed slightly over it. "Forgiven and forgotten," he said and straightened. "Yet I find the sound of life and laughter within these walls quite lovely." Serge returned Tallis' hand. "I think I shall make that one of my first orders to you – there shall always be laughter within these walls. I expect you to make that your first order to your staff."

Tallis shook her head in wonderment. "My staff," she breathed. "I do not think I shall ever become accustomed to that phrase." Her eyes took on a worried look. "Or that responsibility."

Serge nodded – a curt, controlled gesture. "You shall; of that I am quite, quite certain." The curtness disappeared beneath his returning smile. "Would you like to see the cottage?"

Tallis returned his smile. "Yes, please!"

Serge held out his arm and Tallis took it. He walked her through the center hall and toward the back of Trevinny, exiting through a door that opened onto a stone patio. Serge guided Tallis through the gardens, describing the sparse but elegant plantings dictated by the weather and the countryside. In the distance they could hear the sound of the waves pounding against the rocky coastline, the sound growing ever closer as they approached a sprawling one-story gray stone house.

Tallis turned to look at Serge in amazement. "This is a cottage?"

Serge looked at the house before turning to Tallis, his face open and honest. "It is a cottage to one such as I who looks upon Trevinny as a vacation home."

"It is a mansion to me!" Tallis said and allowed Serge to walk her around the front of the house. "Oh," Tallis breathed as she realized she could see the ocean from the small wind-swept front garden.

"Come, Fraulein," Serge said gently and walked Tallis through the front door.

Tallis roamed through the cottage in amazement. There were four bedrooms on one end of the long building, a huge open room at the other. There was a sunny kitchen and a comfortable parlor. Each room was still furnished, dust covers hiding the treasures beneath. Tallis stood in one of the bedrooms and thought the house was just sleeping, waiting for the right person to awaken it once again. A bittersweet feeling began to rise in her chest for she felt at home within the walls of the cottage; yet there was something missing. Tallis shook her head, the tears gathering at the corners of her eyes – there was someone missing.

… _Missing_, Erik thought as he stared at the notes dancing over the lined paper, there is something missing. He closed his eyes, listening to the music in his head, feeling it with his heart. A frown crossed his face as he struggled to feel, to understand. He clasped his hands together, intertwining fingers, tightening his grip, turning his knuckles white. Erik raised his hands to his head, bending forward slightly to rest against them, his lips moving in an unspoken prayer…

Raoul kept his eyes closed, trying to not listen to the words spilling forth from Nico's lips, trying to remember his angel, trying to remember how to pray.

"No, no, no," Nico chanted and pushed on the new wound in Raoul's shoulder, smiling as Raoul groaned and his eyes snapped open. "I did not give you permission to leave."

"Let me die," Raoul pleaded.

"Oh," Nico purred, reaching up to stroke sweat-soaked hair. "Are we not feeling well?"

Raoul fought to keep his eyes open, desperate to avoid any further pain. "Let me die."

"I am letting you die," Nico smiled and shook his head. "I just do not think it is as fast as you would like." He sat back on his heels. "But the timing pleases me; everyone must suffer to get into Heaven." Nico turned his head to look at the casket resting atop the bier. "I think poor Edouard has already suffered enough in your place." He turned back to Raoul. "He deserves some company, do you not think?"

There was no answer.

Nico's knife flashed beneath the scar he had already left beneath Raoul's collarbone, opening a new wound, adding another scar. He smiled at the loud, scratchy sound that issued from his prisoner. "Have you forgotten so soon what happens when you do not answer me?"

Raoul gathered what little energy he had left. "Kill. Me. Now!" He shouted.

Nico was stunned at the physical and emotional strength his hostage had mustered. He sat silently on his heels for a moment before jumping to his feet. "No one orders me around!" he screamed, hands reaching for the coffin lid.

Raoul's eyes closed and he held his breath.

Nico slammed the coffin lid up and down, the noise echoing loudly in the small crypt, causing the Presence lamp to sway lightly. "No. One. Orders. Me. Around!" he screamed again, continuing to slam the coffin lid, using it to punctuate his words. Finally the anger and madness drained from Nico and he trembled as he held the coffin lid open. He studied his hostage for a moment before turning on his heel and walking from the crypt, allowing the iron door to slam loudly behind him.

The sound of the slamming door caused Raoul to open his eyes. He turned his head, the movement making him to groan in pain. Raoul looked at the Presence lamp, the coffin resting beneath it. He frowned as he tried to make out what rested atop the coffin and slowly the knowledge dawned upon him. "Lily," Raoul whispered, his breath ragged. "Christine," came the softly spoken answer as Raoul's eyes closed and he surrendered to the quiet darkness.

And out behind the crypt - in the shadowed darkness of the trees - a young man sat with his hands over his ears, frightened tears streaming down his cheeks. Henri raised his eyes to the sun filtering down through the changing leaves. "Leave me my sanity!" he whispered angrily to the Heavens before rising to his feet and walking back toward the stables, his steps shaky and uncertain…

… Uncertain tones were coaxed from the keys beneath Erik's fingers. They were faltering and unsure beneath the trembling hands of the maestro. Erik raised his hands, tightening his muscles, turning his hands into talons. He let out an angry breath as he opened his eyes and looked at the sheets before him. Facial and hand muscles relaxed as Erik found where he had made his mistake. His hands once again lowered to the keys, beginning to move lightly, uncertain tones fading, turning into a happy dance. Erik's fingers lightly tapped keys, moving the music forward, his heart dancing along with the joyful melody…

"I do not believe I have seen you quite so happy in months," Monique said as she watched her husband and his best friend scan the latest papers from Paris.

Philippe looked up, favoring her with a smile. "It has been awhile, has it not?"

"It seems like it has been ages since we have seen you smile so much," Xavier told him, briefly raising his eyes from his paper and smiling at Philippe. "I will say that planning this upcoming trip is rather exciting."

Philippe folded his paper and placed it on the table beside him before leaning back in his chair, his hands relaxed over the chair's arms. "I had almost forgotten how exciting a season in Paris can be." He sighed. "The symphonies."

Monique's eyes twinkled. "The parties."

Xavier looked up and winked at Philippe. "The salons," he said knowing perfectly well that Philippe would understand his meaning.

His wife did not miss it. "Oh you horrid men will find a way to escape into those types of places to lose money and smoke cigars."

"Drink brandy," Xavier added.

"But I think we are both far too old to flirt with the young ladies," Philippe said with a perfectly straight face, allowing himself to be drawn in to the happy emotion of the moment.

"I should certainly hope so!" Monique feigned shock. She returned the silly smiles of the two men looking at her.

Philippe turned to Xavier. "I thought we would be leaving such things to Henri and Didier." He shook his head. "But Henri is insisting on returning to England and to his parents."

"Didier is planning the same thing," Xavier admitted. "He has emerged from whatever dark hole into which he fell but he is still sullen and withdrawn." He grimaced. "My young cousin is saying he will return to his parents and may not return for some time."

Now it was Philippe's turn to grimace. "What has happened to the two ne'er do-wells we know and have grown to love?"

"I wish I knew," Xavier sighed as he leaned back on the loveseat he shared with his wife, turning to smile at her as Monique's hand clasped his own.

Monique looked at both of the men she loved, giving each of them a slight smile. "Perhaps, when Didier and Henri hear of the fun we are having in Paris - the parties we give, the events we attend," she twinkled at Xavier and Philippe, "the girls with whom I know you will flirt despite your protestations to the contrary, they will not be able to resist. I know they will join us when such news reaches their ears." She leaned back, closer to her husband. "Do not give up on our young men just yet."

Philippe smiled at the sight of his two best friends sitting happily together, their pleasant conversation helping to keep his attention focused on the future and not the past. "Ah, the intuitive wisdom of the fairer sex," Philippe told them as he breathed a happy sigh.

… A happy sigh escaped Erik's lips as the movement he had written to express those first heady days of loving Tallis drew to an end. The small error he had corrected had accomplished what he wanted and now there was no discordance to interfere with his music, his memory. The music was light and airy, wrapping the listener in his joy, pulling them into the ecstasy, the glowing knowledge of knowing that there was another that loved you. Erik smiled slightly, pleased with himself, the smile slowly disappeared as the music mellowed and grew wistful…

Henri slipped easily from his saddle and wrapped his mount's reins about the hitching post. He gave his horse a gentle pat on the neck before turning and walking across the courtyard of a familiar inn. Henri opened the door and paused for a moment as his eyes adjusted to the dimmer lit inside. A smile grew on his face as Arlette sashayed across the crowded floor to his side.

"Henri! We have not seen you here in such a long time!" she exclaimed happily and grew somber. "What is wrong?"

"Nothing," Henri told her, "and everything." He favored Arlette with a sad smile. "One glass of your best wine and a quiet corner, should one be available."

"I think you can find just what you are looking for toward the back," Arlette said as she stood on tiptoe to whisper into Henri's ear. "And another young man with whom to share your drink." She planted a kiss on Henri's cheek and moved toward the bar, disappearing into the crowd.

Henri knew exactly what corner Arlette had meant and he walked toward the back of the inn. A strange look lit up his eyes as he saw Didier sitting at the table. Henri paused near the table. "May I join you?" he asked.

Didier looked up, a smile quickly lighting his eyes and just as quickly disappearing. He waved a hand to the chair that Henri held. "Please."

Henri sat down, saying nothing as Arlette approached, placing a glass of wine before him.

"These are on me," Arlette told them as both young men turned to her and she smiled sweetly. "For my two favorite men," she said softly and disappeared back into the inn.

Henri paused momentarily before reaching for his glass and raising it. "To friendship," he said.

Didier let out a long sigh, raising his own glass. "To us," he breathed, taking a small swallow of the deep red burgundy before setting his glass on the table. "What brings you here?" he wondered.

Henri took a sip of his own wine but kept the glass stem in his hands. "I came for a last drink," he replied and was rather disappointed when there was no reaction from his friend. "I leave tomorrow for England."

The corners of Didier's lips turned up slightly. "I am glad," he said. "You need to be away from here." He took another sip of his wine. "I need to be away from here."

Henri was shocked. "You are leaving, as well?"

"At the end of the month," Didier admitted. "I am accompanying my cousins to Paris and then I shall continue northward until I reach my parents' home near the Belgium border." He shook his head. "And I am never leaving there again."

"We are never going to see each other again, are we?" Henri asked as the knowledge dawned upon him.

Didier shook his head back and forth.

Henri swallowed down his own feelings in the face of his friend's all-too-obvious pain. Once again, he raised his glass. "To the best friend I shall ever know," he said softly.

Didier's chin trembled but he raised his own glass. "To what might have been," he replied and sipped at his wine, holding the glass to his lips, whispering into it. "For all the generations," he finished sadly.

… Sadly and slowly Erik's hands moved over the keyboard and into the next movement of his music. Skilled fingers found the beauty in parting as they played a simple, uncomplicated melody. There was truth in the way Erik had strung together whole notes, no flats or sharps or grace notes to mar the simplicity of the whole. He could feel the tune, the slow rhythm as a steady rumbling deep within his gut. It spoke to him of the one who was missing, the one whom he had come to depend upon. The nearly child-like melody reaching in to break and heal his heart in the same moment…

Raoul stared at the red light emanating from the Presence lamp before turning his eyes to the casket beneath it. "I am sorry," he breathed to the person within. "Thank you for what you tried to do." Raoul moved his head slightly, his eyes slowly beginning to close.

"_Raoul,"_ a voice called gently.

Raoul opened his eyes to find his angel materializing next to the coffin. "You came back," he breathed.

The angel awkwardly went to her knees beside the coffin, her swollen middle hindering graceful movements. _"I came back," _she acknowledged with a crooked smile.

"I cannot do this anymore," Raoul breathed, unable to keep the cry from his voice. "I am so cold." His breath was ragged. "I cannot move anything. I cannot feel anything." A smile briefly crossed his face, the effort drawing away more strength. "I can barely see you."

"_I know, I know"_ the angel whispered, a hand going to smooth the hair from his forehead._ "It is almost over."_

"I am so sick," Raoul told her. "And so tired."

The angel shook her head at Raoul, leaving her hand resting against his clammy cheek. _"It is all right to let go,"_ she told him.

Raoul's eyes traveled from his angel's face to the visible bulge beneath her white gown. "Baby," he breathed. "He wants to hurt you and the baby." He raised his eyes back to her face.

"_No one,"_ the angel insisted_. "No one will ever harm either of us. I will never let anyone touch your child. I would die before I let such a thing happen! We are safe and we will stay safe."_ Her fingers brushed away the lone tear that slid down Raoul's cheek. _"I swear to you!"_

Raoul nodded. "Thank you." The effort taken to speak a few words took its toll on Raoul and his pale complexion turned a ghastly shade of gray. 

"_Close your eyes,"_ the angel said as she reached up to move his eyelids down._ "It is almost over."_

Raoul did as she asked, watching as his angel disappeared from sight, behind his closing eyelids, repeating her words. "Almost over."

… Over. The beautiful piece of music that Erik had composed was over. It ended as softly as it had begun. Yet this time the notes were not the melancholy sounds of a requiem but just as rich and as full. They were mature notes, played with a strength of emotion that came from a place that Erik did not know. He sat still and silent on his bench as the last notes faded away in the lengthening shadows of the garret, a puzzled look on his face. Erik struggled to understand from where the melody had come. He stared at the notes on the paper, recognizing his own notations but unable to remember placing them there. He rose to his feet and began to methodically pace back and forth across the small garret. Erik worried his bottom lip between his teeth, clenched and unclenched his hands and then he paused in mid-stride. He turned back to the piano, moving to resume his seat on the bench. Trembling fingers reached out to trace the sweet melody he could not remember writing. Erik could hear the tune in his head and heart, in his very soul. A smile crossed his face as he nodded to himself.

"Tallis," he said simply.


	59. Chapter 59

**Chapter Summary:** Henri faces a sleepless night as he struggles with his sanity. The police and Louis close in on Chagny. And in a moment of blind courage, defying his family, Henri finds his redemption ..

_**Author's Notes:** This chapter is for my "Sounding Board", the person who has so nicely petted me when my doubts arose and kicked my ass when I needed to be kicked. She has answered all my questions with patience and grace. And she has kept more secrets about this story than any will ever know. So, LiveJournal user _"Musiquephan"_, this chapter is for you! I could not have made it this far without your assistance! Merci, madame!_

CHAPTER FIFTY NINE

Henri slowly crossed estate grounds from the stables to the main house. He paused by the back portico, standing in the deepening twilight, staring at the bright lights winking from nearly every window on every floor of the chateau. A sad smile crossed his face and he sighed deeply. "I have been such a disappointment," he whispered to himself and turned his face to the stars beginning to appear in the evening sky. "I swear, I will not let you down this time." Henri shoved his hands into his pockets. "Not this time." He walked down the familiar garden path and up the stairs to the back portico. He paused with his hand on the door latch, turning to look out over the dark landscape, his eyes turning toward the family chapel and cemetery, a lone voice echoing in his head.

"_Let me die!"_ the voice screamed in Henri's mind.

"I cannot let your memory die," Henri said. "I have to keep it alive for your child. I have to hold my memories of you in trust until your child is old enough to share them with." Henri shook his head and turned to enter the house. He paused in the back hallway listening to the sounds, following them toward the dining room.

"Well," Philippe said as Henri opened the door to the dining room. "Where have you been?" he asked and paused as Henri entered the room and took a seat at Philippe's right hand.

"No, thank you," Henri said to the servant who appeared at his side. "I am not hungry."

The servant looked at Philippe who waved his hand and the man disappeared, leaving Philippe staring at his young cousin.

Across the table from Henri, Arthur cleared his throat, catching the young man's attention. "Where have you been?"

Henri, usually the first to challenge Arthur's authority and privilege in the household, did not rise to the bait. "I went to the inn for a quiet drink and I encountered Didier doing the same."

"One drink only?" Arthur was skeptical.

"One only," Henri assured him with a nod. "We had much about which to speak." Henri sighed. "And we said our goodbyes."

Philippe pulled the napkin from his lap, placing it on the table before reaching for his cousin. "Xavier is worried for Didier."

Henri interrupted Philippe with a strange guttural sound.

"And I am worried – deeply – about you," Philippe finished and closed his hand over the one upon which it rested.

Henri could not meet the eyes of either man who stared worriedly at him and he studied the linen tablecloth. "I think I am… I have been having…" he began softly. "Ever since Raoul died, I have been seeing things and just recently I have begun to hear things." Henri closed his eyes, his chin trembling, before opening them and raising his head. "I think I am losing my mind," he finally admitted aloud

Arthur looked stunned and Philippe was slightly angry.

"Why did you not say anything before?" Philippe wondered.

Henri shook his head. "Philippe, you were too wrapped in your own grief, too concerned over Christine and her child to worry about the fool in your midst."

"Henri …" Philippe tried.

"No," Henri interrupted him and nodded toward Arthur. "He knows. Arthur knows just what kind of a man I am capable of being." He gave Philippe a slight smile. "And he is the best friend you will ever know for he never said a word to you."

Philippe turned an amazed countenance to his aide and friend. "Arthur," he questioned, "is this true?"

Arthur nodded. "What occurred was between us. It was resolved quietly with no lasting harm done and I felt it need not concern you."

"_Mon Dieu!"_ Philippe exclaimed as he sat back in his chair. "Is there anything else that I should know about? Any other secrets being kept from me in my own home?"

There was an awkward silence broken by Henri. "Yes," he said as he fixed his eyes on his cousin and rose to his feet, "but until I am certain of what I know I will say nothing." Henri swallowed and straightened his shoulders, raising his hand to pause Philippe as he opened his mouth. "At least allow me this much dignity," Henri begged. "If I am truly losing my mind, I wish to have my last moments of sanity be the one thing in this world about which I can be proud." Henri watched as a confused Philippe nodded his head slightly. "Thank you," he replied. "I am going to go upstairs and try to sleep before I must leave in the morning."

Yet sleep did not come easy for Henri that night. He lay down upon his bed, packed and locked trunks scattered about the room, the next day's clothes neatly pressed and hanging upon the wardrobe door, ready for traveling. Henri took little note of them, though, as he tossed and turned beneath the fine bedding. He would sleep for a short time before waking again, rolling over to fall asleep – only to repeat the cycle. Finally in the wee small hours of the morning, Henri surrendered to his agitation, rose to his feet and began to pace the bedroom floor. His hands clenched and unclenched at his side, his bottom lip beginning to bleed from Henri's constant chewing upon it.

"The voices, the voices, the damn voices," Henri muttered to himself. "Why did they seem so real? Why are they not like the cross – distant, unreachable." He paused in his pacing, looking out the second story window of his room. "And why is there more than one?" Henri ran a trembling hand through his hair. "What is happening to me?" he worried, listening for an answer in the dark quiet.

Henri walked over to his bed and fell to shaking knees at its side. Barely able to remember the prayers of his youth, Henri spoke from his heart. "Help me, God," he prayed. "Please!" Henri's shoulders began to shake and he buried his face in the bed linens, his hands beating upon the mattress, as he cried out his fears. And there Henri would stay until dawn began to creep over the mountains, lighting a new day and another chance to begin again.

The same rosy dawn that saw Henri slowly rise from his knees, a determined look upon his face, also saw a coach and four racing down the main road from Lyon to Chagny. The coach was now far closer to Chagny than to Lyon and that pleased the two men inside the coach who, also, wore determined looks upon their faces. They had been in the coach for two days, only leaving it to stretch aching muscles as the team was changed before the coach returned to its desperate journey.

Chief Inspector Robert Pichette looked at his watch, a frown upon his unshaven face. His hand reached for the curtain over the coach window and pulled it up, staring out at the brightening countryside. "How much longer?" he wondered, his tone anxious and irritable.

Inspector Guy Rousseau raised the curtain on the other window. Unlike Pichette who had grown up in the north of France, Rousseau was a local boy who had been raised in the quaint countryside between Lyon and Chagny. He studied the landscape for a few moments before turning back to look at his mentor. "It should be another two hours," Rousseau did not flinch beneath Pichette's angry gaze. "Perhaps less – should the driver and team maintain this speed."

"Two more hours," Pichette muttered beneath his breath and raised his eyes to look at Rousseau. "This is the hardest thing I have ever had to do," he told his favorite inspector.

Rousseau sat still and silent, allowing Pichette to speak his mind, knowing that the words would express his own emotions.

"What am I to say to the Comte?" Pichette wondered. "Excuse me, Monsieur le Comte, but your brother was not killed in the explosion and has, indeed, been alive all these months?" He shook his head. "There is reason to believe he was grossly mistreated during this time and that he may still be in the hands of the person who perpetuated such actions upon him. No, we are not quite sure where he is or if your brother should even still be alive. Nor we do we know why such a thing was done to him."

Rousseau swallowed. "It sounds as if we do not know much," he said evenly.

"We do not," Pichette admitted and shook his head. "These last few days, the finding of the farmhouse, the questioning of Francois Amerlaine, it presents to the world the image that the Ministry in Paris has of us – foolish country bumpkins incapable of solving even the simplest of crimes and completely inept when it comes to serious crimes and crimes of vast importance."

"I do not think the Comte will not think so harshly of us," Rousseau replied thoughtfully. "The few times we have interacted with him, he struck me as a reasonable, well-thought man."

Pichette nodded his head slightly. "I agree; yet, such reasonable thoughts disappear when it is your loved one who is the victim of a crime. You know such is true – we see it everyday in even the simple action of a pickpocket. Such a simple thing, a common occurance, leaves the victim feeling violated. How much worse shall it be for the Comte and his family when we arrive bearing the news we carry with us?"

"How much worse has it been for the Vicomte?" Rousseau wondered softly.

"I tell you truly that it is not something I wish to think upon," Pichette admitted, "but it is something I find I cannot chase from my mind. How does one survive months of such mistreatment, the separation from loved ones and not be an altered person?"

"I do not imagine the Vicomte will be the same person when we find him." Rousseau answered. "Yet I think he will be relieved and grateful to be back in the arms of his family."

A ghost of smile passed over Pichette's lips. "You are so certain he will be found?"

"I cannot think otherwise."

Chief Inspector Pichette felt a warmth swell within his heart – he had chosen his succesor well. "You are a good man," he told Inspector Rousseau and turned to look out at the countryside that was racing by. "I only wonder what kind of man could do such things as were done to the Vicomte. What drives such a person?" He turned to look back at Rousseau. "And shall we find him sane enough to punish for his actions?"

The man about whom Chief Inspector Pichette wondered was also on the mind of the man who guided a tired horse through the woods surrounding Chagny. He had been in the saddle for nearly two days, his legs were numb, his body exhausted. Yet his mind was still sharp, still focused on the one prevailing thought that held sway at the forefront of all other thoughts – where was Nico and what had he done with their hostage.

"He had better not have done anything he is going to regret," Louis muttered to himself as he turned his horse down a familiar lane.

Louis recognized the lane that meandered through the woods, past a small river, from the months he and those whom he had recruited into his plans had lived in them. A strange look passed his face when the horse emerged into an open field where all the planning and waiting had come to fruition when their prey had so carelessly ridden his horse over his own land. Louis paused for a moment in that open field, wondering why the young man had not fought back harder – even when faced with two loaded pistols – but the thought quickly fled from his mind. He had other issues – more important issues – issues upon which his own life hung that needed to be addressed immediately.

He had to find Nico.

Louis gently tapped heels into his horse's flanks, urging the tired animal forward again. He guided the horse through the open clearing and into the woods on the other side. Louis was heading for the area where he and the others had made camp for he did not know what else to do. He had no idea what had happened to Francois and could not have cared less. He had no idea to where Nico had disappeared with their hostage. Louis knew that he feared what would happen when the person who had been directing each movement from the shadows discovered what had occurred. He was acting upon pure instinct and nothing else, unable to think beyond what he would do should he not find Nico and their hostage in the general vicinty of Chagny.

"Mad enough to think he could do it, as well," Louis said to the surrounding landscape, the bright autumn morning, the birds twittering away in the trees.

There had been moments – at the beginning – when Louis had second-guessed his decision to recruit Nico into the scheme that had been laid out before him. He had known of Nico's penchant for blood-letting, for the infliction of pain and humiliation and it had been for those reasons – and those reasons only – that he had brought Nico into his plans. The man who controlled the purse strings, who had presented detailed plans to earn easy money to Louis, had also wanted someone who could make the hostage miserable, to humiliate him, to topple the man from the pedestal upon which his family had placed him. Louis knew that Nico would be able to do such things even while asleep. And Nico had done exactly what was needed of him; but then something snapped, some intangible part of Nico's mind had broken and he had gone above and beyond what had been expected of him.

Now Louis only hoped that when he eventually found Nico and their hostage, both men would still be alive. And Nico would be manageable. Or, if not manageable, able to be taken unawares and done away with in as simple and as quiet a manner as possible.

Louis slowed his horse even further as he approached the area in the woods where four men had patiently lain in wait for months. He could see no evidence that any other had recently passed that way and Louis could begin to feel the anger overwhelm him. He tightened the grip on his reins and inhaled through his teeth when he paused, a sound catching his ear. Louis pulled back on the reins, stopping his horse, sitting still and listening to the surrounding day. And there it was again – that sound. A sound that caused Louis' eyes to narrow dangerously. He sat for another moment as his ears tried to pinpoint the direction from which the whinny of horse's could be heard.

"Forward," Louis told his horse as he began to follow the faint sound.

Man and mount continued to walk through the woods, avoiding obstacles on the ground and low-hanging branches overhead. Finally the horse moved through a particularly dense thicket of oak and maple and as the horse emerged from the trees and into a tiny clearing, a nasty smile twitched at the edges of Louis' lips as a familiar gypsy wagon greeted his eyes.

"Got you," he hissed triumphantly as he slid from his saddle, numb feet hitting the soft earth beneath.

Even as the police and the criminals closed in upon Chagny – each party searching for one man - another young man was preparing to leave the great chateau in an attempt to discover where he had gone wrong, where he had misplaced the dreams everyone held for him.

Henri walked down the grand staircase of the chateau after a long and restless night. His complexion was ghostly, his eyes circled by a darkness that only highlighted their pale blue color. Henri's hands were sunk into his pockets, the material moving almost imperceptably in response to the nervous fidgeting of the fingers it hid. Yet there was a look of grim determination on his handsome face, a look that caused the valet at the front door to start beneath its intensity. Henri ignored him, turning and walking down the main hall to the small dining room where he knew that Philippe would breakfast each morning with Arthur as they discussed the needs of the upcoming day.

"I know I am doing the right thing," Henri whispered reassuringly to himself as his hand tightened on the doorknob and he opened the door, walking into the sunny room.

"Good Morning," Arthur said to the young man who stood in the doorway.

Philippe looked at Henri and favored his young cousin with a bright smile. "I am so glad you decided to join us," he said and waved at the chafing dishes on the buffet. "I had Mathilde prepare all your favorite dishes. I do not want you traveling all the way to Lyon without a sustaining meal in your stomach."

"Thank you for the thought and thank Mathilde for her efforts," Henri said as he remained rooted in the doorway, his eyes closing momentarily.

"But …" Philippe encouraged, sensing something different about his cousin.

"I am done being a coward," Henri said to himself, "I am done being a coward," and opened his eyes, fixing Philippe with a steady look. "When I said last evening that I have been hearing voices, that was not a lie nor was it the whole truth." Henri took note of the looks on the faces of the two men on the opposite side of the room and drew a deep breath. "I have been spending a good deal of time at Raoul's crypt …"

"That is not so different from anyone else here," Philippe interrupted gently.

Henri ignored him. "But that is where I have been hearing the voices." He ignored the stunned looks he was receiving. "They only started a few days ago and I think … I think …" Henri shook his head, his lips tightening into a grim line. "No, I know that the voices were not in my head."

"What are you saying?" Arthur wondered as he exchanged a brief look with Philippe.

"I am saying that the voices I have been hearing at Raoul's tomb were real," Henri told them. "There was a voice I did not recognize." He knew his next words would cause consternation but Henri would not back down now and he released his grip on the door. "And the other was Raoul's."

The silence in the room was deafening.

"You truly are mad!" Arthur blurted out.

Philippe quickly rose to his feet, his chair falling over in the process. "You have gone too far this time," he warned Henri.

"I know what I heard!" Henri said in a deadly tone of voice. "And I am going to prove it!" He turned on his heel and quickly ran down the hall, leaving two shocked man staring after him.

Arthur rose to his feet. "What is wrong with him?" he asked Philippe.

"I do not know," Philippe replied angrily. "But I intend to stop him before he does anything foolish," he finished as he threw down his napkin and fled the room, chasing after Henri, Arthur hard on his heels.

Henri ran down the hallway, bursting through one of the many doors lining the back portico, ignoring the shocked looks from Philippe's staff, leaving the door opened behind him. Henri could hear familiar voices calling after him but he chose to ignore them, as well. He used his long legs to lengthen his stride, disregarding the pain in his knees caused by spending hours on them. Henri chose to not look down to ensure that his feet would not falter and stumble over some unexpected obstacle; he was certain he had God on his side and God would never let a seeker for truth falter. Or so Henri remembered from a long-forgotten catechism lesson. And with that certainty on his side – for what felt like the first time in his life – Henri kept his focus, shutting out the world around him. He knew his goal and knew he could not afford to be distracted from it.

"If I am wrong," he panted as he raised his eyes to the Heavens, "at least take my mind so I will not have to see the looks on the faces of those about me." Henri drew a deep breath into this mouth and continued to run toward his goal.

The cemetery.

It took only a few minutes for Henri, pursued by his own demons, to cross the rolling distance between the chateau and the cemetery. He paused momentarily at the edge of the well tended gravesites, bending over, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. Henri could feel the burning ache in his chest as lungs - only used to the physical activity of bouncing a bargirl on his knee – protested their indignence at having to work so hard. Henri opened his eyes and saw the grass at which he stared waving and swirling before the lightheadedness laying claim to the mind he so feared losing. Henri drew several deep breaths and straightened, as the worst of the dizziness began to pass.

"Right," he breathed to himself, steadying his nerves and pulling forth the loaded pistol from his pocket. He began to walk toward Raoul's crypt. "I am going to get in there one way or the other."

Henri moved lightly and quietly over the graveled pathways of the cemetery, years of training as a dancer unconsciously guiding his footfalls. Henri stopped just short of the small rise that led to Raoul's crypt, drawing several deep breaths to steady his nerves, the shaking hand that held the pistol. He crossed the remaining distance to his goal with all the grace and silence of a cat, stopping next to the hinges of the iron door and closing his eyes, listening.

"Wakey, wakey, wakey," a voice could be heard followed by the sound of something slamming. "Wake up when I order you!"

Henri winced in pain and bit his bottom lip, drawing blood.

"Leave me to die," a pained, barely audible reply could be heard.

Henri's eyes snapped open. "Oh God," he breathed as he turned toward the door and paused. "Who are you?" he demanded of the graying man approaching from the woods that sheltered Raoul's crypt.

The man froze in his tracks. "You …" he breathed and shook his head. "You …" he repeated.

Henri levelled his gun in the man's direction. "What do you want here?"

The man gave no answer but stared, an evil look passing over his face. "You are not him," he snarled and pulled a knife from his pocket.

A sick feeling began to grow in the pit of Henri's stomach. "I am not whom?" he asked and before he could receive an answer, the door to Raoul's crypt flew open, hitting Henri square in the face, knocking him to the ground, sending his pistol flying.

"No!" Nico shouted as he lunged out of the crypt, throwing himself at Louis. "He is mine!"

Henri lay on the ground, stunned, listening to the sound of fighting, struggling to see past the swirling dots that clouded his vision. He reached up a shaking hand to his face and drew it back, seeing blood on it and seeing past his bloody hand to the open door to his cousin's crypt.

"Henri!" a familiar voice called across the distance to him but Henri chose to ignore it, reaching out to grab to the edge of the heavy iron door, using it to pull himself upright.

"Henri!" another voice called to him as Henri stood on shaking legs, holding to the iron door.

"Dear God!" the first voice shouted, even closer.

Henri blocked out the voices that closed the distance behind him and used the door to steady his steps as he dodged the brawling bodies in front of the crypt.

Nico turned to look over his shoulder. "No!" he shouted to Henri, trying to reach the young man, only to find himself pulled back by Louis. "Let me go!" Nico screamed, suddenly a flurry of flashing arms and legs. "Mine!"

Henri took one note of the madness on the ground before him and quickly stumbled into his cousin's crypt, pulling the door shut behind him. He stood for a moment, transfixed by the light of the Presence lamp and the casket beneath it. "Raoul," he breathed and crossed himself, taking hesitant steps towards his cousin's remains. "How could I have been so wrong? Graverobbers. It was only graverob …" Henri's words were cut off by the sound of groaning coming from behind him. All the color drained from Henri's face as he turned around. "Oh dear God," came the strangled exclamation and Henri sank to his knees and crawled across the small distance toward the sound coming from the extra coffin in a crypt meant only for one.

From beyond the closed door, Henri could hear the angry shouts of Philippe and Arthur, voices he had been hearing for years. They sounded angry and angrier voices, crazed voices answered them in response. Henri thought he heard the sound of a scuffle begin but he could not care, could not focus on anything but what was before him. Henri drew in a ragged breath, his chin quivering, as he held out a tentative hand, lightly touching the man before him. "Raoul?" he whispered.

There was no response from the thin, bound, unshaven man in the casket. Yet despite the sunken cheeks, the haggard, abused appearance, Henri would know the person anywhere. "Raoul," he said more urgently, the sounds of fighting audible through the door. "Oh God, Raoul," Henri said, unable to truly believe it was his cousin. He rested a gentle hand on Raoul's chest to ensure he was breathing, a sigh of relief escaping his lips. "Thank God." Henri lifted his hand to rest against his cousin's cheek. "Please Raoul, it is Henri! Please wake up!" Henri turned to look over his shoulder at the Presence lamp. "Please God! You cannot have brought me this far only to have him die now."

"No more," a pained whisper caught Henri's ear. "Please let me die."

Henri's head quickly turned back. "Raoul, please!" And Henri watched as his cousin's eyes slowly fluttered open and stared at him blankly. "Raoul," Henri continued to speak gently to his cousin, trying to pull him forth from whatever darkness into which he had sunk.

"Henri?" Raoul wondered as he stared, trying to focus and then his eyes closed.

"No!" Henri shouted and lightly gripped his cousin's arm. "You need to stay!" And in the red glow from the Presence lamp, Henri could see the tears on Raoul's cheek. He reached in and brushed the tears from Raoul's unshaven cheeks. "Dear God, you are alive! It is a miracle!"

The sound of a pained scream from beyond the cool interior of the crypt caused Raoul's eyes to snap open and he turned his head to Henri. "You have to go," he breathed. "He will kill you. He will kill the baby."

Henri's face turned into a frown. "I am not leaving without you!" His eyes scanned the red-lit interior.

"You do not," Raoul panted, the effort to speak, the emotional shock of seeing a family member after nearly five months of abusive captivity, taking its toll what remained of his strength. "Christine … the baby … please go … help them …"

Henri paused in his searching to look at Raoul. "I am NOT leaving without you! Not now!" Henri turned to his left and picked up the knife hidden in the shadows before turning back to Raoul. "I have to get you out of here!" Henri reached in to the ropes about Raoul's legs, beginning to untie them.

"Christine …" Raoul repeated.

Henri paused for a moment, he took his hands and placed them on either side of Raoul's face. "She is safe, I swear to you. I do not know how you know about the baby but I vow on everything I hold dear that they are safe. Please, you must believe me!"

Raoul managed to nod his head once.

"I am going to help you to sit up," Henri said, frowning at the coffin. "You need to get out of this thing," he spat and slipped his arms beneath Raoul's shoulders, slowly lifting him into a sitting position. Henri could feel his cousin swaying and tightened his grip.

"I cannot feel anything," Raoul breathed and turned his head to look at Henri. Suddenly Raoul began to shake violently. "Do not hurt me … please … no more …"

Henri stared at Raoul, a puzzled look on his face and then his eyes drifted downward to the knife he held. "I would never hurt you," Henri said. "But I need to cut the knot so I can get these ropes off." He massaged Raoul's neck in comfort. "I will not hurt you," Henri said softly. "Do you trust me?"

Raoul still shook but he gave a slight nod.

"Close your eyes for a moment," Henri said softly, waiting until Raoul had done as he asked. Henri wet his lips and very carefully, with deliberate action so as to disturb the man in his arms as little as possible, Henri slipped the tip of the knife into the knots at Raoul's waist. He drew a deep breath and with one quick flick of a shaking wrist, Henri moved the knife upward and forward, slicing through the ropes. He placed the knife down, flinging away the ropes that fell from Raoul's body. Henri wrapped his arms about his cousin, no longer able to stop the tears. "It is over," he whispered as Raoul's head fell to his chest. Henri rested his own head against Raoul's. "I love you."

Raoul still shook and he winced as increased blood flow in his limbs caused them to tingle unmercifully but the sound of a heart beating comfortably beneath his ear, the gentle touch of loving arms, drew forth tears from the depths of his soul that Raoul no longer thought he possessed. "I love you, too," he breathed. "Thank you."

"Let me know when you can stand …" Henri began and his words were cut off by the sound of a gunshot echoing in the morning air.

Raoul managed to lift his head. "Oh God," he said, his shaking increasing.

Henri could feel his cousin begin to slip from his grip and he wrapped his arms tighter about Raoul. "No one will ever hurt you again," he insisted.

Raoul looked up at Henri, the defeat evident in his eyes. "You have to go," he said. "Christine … the baby … he will kill us both … please!"

"No." Henri set his chin in a determined jut. "I have been a coward all my life and I have run from everything." He shook his head. "But I am not running from this."

"Please!" Raoul pleaded.

"I cannot leave you here!" Henri exclaimed, reaching down for the knife next to him. "If he wants to get to you, he will have to go through me. And I will die before I ever let anyone touch you again!"

In the eerie silence that reached in from the outside, permeating the stillness of the crypt, Henri wrapped one arm about his cousin's shoulders, pulling him close, holding out the knife with his other hand.

"No," Raoul said, feeling the tension in the atmosphere. He buried his head in Henri's chest. "Please, no more."

The iron door to the crypt slowly began to open, its well-tended hinges silent, noiseless and suddenly bright sun flooded the red-lit crypt, temporarily blinding Henri, silouhetting the dark figure in the doorway.

"If you take another step forward," Henri said in a trembling voice, the hand holding the knife shaking, "I promise it will be the last step you take."

"I swear I am going to have your parents clap you irons and ship you to Bedlam!" came Philippe's angry voice. "What is the meaning of this?"

The knife clattered to the stone floor from Henri's shaking hand. "Philippe," he breathed and louder. "Philippe!"

Philippe's eyes were growing accustomed to the red interior of the crypt. "Henri …" he began and paused as a familiar whisper reached his ears.

"Philippe," Raoul breathed as he turned his head and opened his eyes.

Philippe swayed and fell to his knees. "Oh … my … God …"


	60. Chapter 60

**Chapter Summary:** Philippe and Henri face the event that has once again turned their world upside down. In a house by the sea, Christine's world is also turned upside down prompting her to begin the first steps in setting her world right again.

**_Author's Notes:_** This is a long chapter and I have hemmed and hawed about splitting it but I have decided to leave it as is; I do not want to waste all that emotional buildup to the ending.

"_But, Philippe," Raoul said and coughed, his body shaking from the effort. "I do not want to stay abed any longer!"_

_Philippe rose from the chair beside his young brother's bed and sat next to Raoul. He reached out gentle hands, pushing Raoul back to recline against the pile of pillows. "I think you had best remain in bed until that cough leaves," Philippe told him, a hand going against Raoul's forehead. Philippe frowned at the elevated temperature he felt, the flush he saw in Raoul's cheeks. "No, I am sorry," Philippe said with a shake of his head. "You are not leaving this bed until you are well and this chill passes."_

_It was a sorry sentence for a ten year old who could see the bright autumn colors from his bedroom window. "I do not like this," Raoul said, sticking out his bottom lip. "Henri has gone back to school and you are busy with work and no one ever comes to see me." Another violent cough rattled his body and Raoul drew in several deep, shuddering breaths when he was finished._

_Philippe could not help the worry that blossomed in his breast. The doctors had assured him that Raoul had just caught a chill and it would pass given time. Yet Philippe could not help but fear that each cough, each slight increase in temperature, was an indication that the chill had deepened into pneumonia and Philippe knew all to well what such a thing could mean. He took a moment to bury his fear of losing the child before him deep within for Raoul did not need to look toward his big brother and see such a thing on his face._

"_Well?" a raspy voice was demanding his attention._

"_I am sorry," Philippe said as he turned his attention back to his brother. "I was not listening."_

_Raoul frowned at his brother and crossed his arms over his chest. "No one ever listens to me," he grumped._

"_I shall tell you something," Philippe began, waiting until Raoul had reluctantly nodded. "I am going to stay here with you until you are better." He smiled as the frown on Raoul's face began to disappear. "We shall play chess and read books and keep up with your studies…"  
_

"_Can you teach me to play cards?" Raoul wanted to know, his expression brightening for a moment._

"_I will," Philippe promised with a smile and ran a hand over his brother's forehead, smoothing the sweat-soaked hair. "But now you must rest."_

"_I am not tired," Raoul protested, his closing eyes giving lie to his words._

"_Just rest, Raoul," Philippe whispered as he took the hand of the child drifting off to sleep. "Just rest…"_

"Just rest," Philippe whispered as he held to the bandaged hand clasped tightly to his own. "Know you are safe and just rest."

There was no answer from the man sleeping in his own bed.

"He will not answer you for quite some time," Senor Gallardo told Philippe. "The morphine I gave him to kill the pain will also allow him the sleep he needs." The elderly doctor shook his head. "It is a thing not to be believed," he said softly.

"It is a thing beyond hope," Philippe answered just as softly. "It is proof that there is a God." He reluctantly raised his eyes from his brother's face to look at the doctor. "He will get well?" Philippe asked.

Senor Gallardo smiled gently at the Comte. "I do not know," he said. "It depends upon how much strength he has left." He looked at Raoul, barely able to recognize the vital young man he had known in the emaciated, abused person before him. "I am an old man, Monsieur – a country doctor – the physicians who will arrive from Lyon will be able to give you a better answer."

A soft knock came at the door to the bedroom and it opened, Mathilde sticking her head in. "I did as you asked," she told Philippe.

A smile crossed Philippe's face. "Come," he told her, the smile growing broader as he took note of the pillow in Mathilde's hands. "May I have it please?" Philippe asked.

The smile of a mother danced across Mathilde's face. "Of a certainty," she replied. "But I think this may require two hands."

Philippe looked down, having momentarily forgotten that Raoul had never let go of his hand from the moment they had embraced in the red light of the crypt. Philippe gently disentangled their hands, reaching for the pillow Mathilde extended, raising it to his nose, inhaling the scent of lilies. He rose from his chair and carefully lifted Raoul's head, placing Christine's pillow beneath it, before lowering his brother's head. Philippe waited a moment, watching as Raoul drew a deep breath, his chest expanding and Philippe was certain his brother could smell his wife's perfume that had been dropped on the linen pillow cover. "Let that bring you comfort," Philippe whispered, "until we can bring her back to you." He turned to Mathilde. "Will you sit with him for a few moments, please? I do not want him to be alone."

"With pleasure," Mathilde replied.

Philippe turned his attention to Senor Gallardo. "Where was Henri when you left him?"

"In the library," the doctor replied.

"I will be back," Philippe assured everyone, "but I must speak with Henri for a few moments." He looked at the uniformed officer seated discreetly in a corner; Philippe was taking no chances. He turned back to his brother and leaned over to place a kiss on Raoul's forehead. "I love you," he whispered before turning and leaving Raoul's bedroom.

Philippe walked down the grand staircase, feeling the charged atmosphere of his home. He took note of the uniformed officer stationed just beyond the front door, knowing there was another at the back portico. Philippe wondered if there were any uniformed gendarmes left in the small village. He walked back toward the library, past servants who whispered quietly, knowing aboutwhom they whispered and not caring. God had granted a miracle and his brother was alive and that was what mattered. Philippe opened the door to the library; the young man who sat staring out at the lengthening shadows that signaled the start of late afternoon, the other thing that mattered.

"How is he?" Henri asked softly, having heard the door open.

Philippe took note of the open decanter, the full glass beside it. "I do not know yet. Senor Gallardo has done what he can but I do not know yet." Philippe said as he entered the library and closed the door. He walked across the room full of gleaming furniture and leather bound books and treasured family keepsakes. "Doctors from Lyon have been sent for and they may be able to tell us more."

"Good," Henri replied.

Philippe walked around the table next to the chair where Henri sat, continuing to talk. "I know that Raoul should be in a hospital but the trip back here was nearly more than he could take. I am terrified to move him any further. I could not stand to lose him again." Philippe paused for a moment to look out the windows before turning to face his cousin, a frown creasing his features. "Are you all right?"

Henri seemed to think and then raised a hand to his swollen lip, bandaged nose and blackened eyes. "This? It is nothing," he said. "What happened to those two men?"

"What two men …" Philippe began and shook himself. He sank into the leather chair opposite Henri. "The two men outside the crypt?" Henri nodded his head. "One of them stabbed the other in the shoulder and Arthur shot the one who wielded the knife in the leg. They were taken into custody by the inspectors who arrived from Lyon," an expression of death crossed Philippe's face, "and I intend to see them hung for what they have done."

Henri briefly closed his eyes, his hand reaching out for the full whiskey glass. "Hanging is too good for them," he muttered as he stared into the amber depths of the glass he held. A bitter laugh escaped his lips. "I do not even want this!" he exclaimed.

Philippe held out his hand. "I do," he said. "Let me have it." Philippe took the glass that Henri extended, raising it to his lips and downing in one swallow. He did not even choke as he felt fingers of fire snake their way outward from his belly, warming the numbness in which he found himself wrapped. He handed the glass back to Henri. "Are you certain there is nothing wrong with you?"

"A broken nose, a headache, nothing more." Henri's tongue snaked out to play along his cut bottom lip. "What of Christine? Raoul kept …" he shook his head and swallowed back the emotions of the morning. "Raoul kept asking for her. He was concerned for her safety and that of their child." A perplexed look crossed his face. "I do not even wish to know how those men knew of the child and how they must have used such knowledge against Raoul."

"Arthur is on his way to Paris to see the same people as … as the last time," Philippe said. "If there are any who will know where Christine is, it shall be the people she loves as family." Now it was Philippe's turn to worry. "Surely when Arthur tells them of what has occurred, they will not keep her location a secret any longer. Surely they will know she would wish to return to her husband."

"I am certain of it," Henri replied. "What of Desiree and Charlotte?"

A genuine small smile crossed Philippe's face. "Who are you now?" he wondered. "Me?"

Henri looked frightened. "I do not mean to intrude! I just … I just …"

Philippe leaned forward and placed a hand on Henri's knee. "I am glad that someone is thinking clearly for I cannot think beyond the fact that my brother … that Raoul …" Philippe choked and could not continue.

"I understand," Henri said softly, leaning back in his chair. "I understand all too well."

"Arthur was to telegraph my sisters from the station in Lyon." Philippe let out a long breath. "It seems cold and callous to telegraph them when Arthur is going to tell Christine in person but I can think of no faster way to let them know …" Words failed Philippe again and he leaned back in his own chair.

"I suspect we will be overwhelmed with family and friends when everyone discovers what has happened," Henri said. "Have you told Xavier and Monique?" he wondered in a strange tone. "And Didier?"

Philippe nodded. "I just sent one of the valets over; I did not wish to say anything until Raoul had been seen by a doctor. The gendarmes know that they are permitted past my threshold." Philippe grew grim. "The gendarmes will not leave these grounds until I have answers. I need to know why this was done. I do not give a damn about the money but I need to know why those men felt they could do this to my brother!"

Henri could not see Philippe's eyes narrow as he turned his head, avoiding his cousin's gaze.

"I need answers from you, as well," Philippe continued, the determination evident in his voice. "You need to tell me everything you know, everything you even suspect. If this was done merely for the money, than so be it; but I do not believe it is so."

Henri closed his eyes and hung his head.

"And neither do you," Philippe finished.

The silence in the room was palpable.

"I am ordering you – as head of this family – to speak to me!" Philippe demanded.

Henri sniffled through his bandaged nose, the sound causing his cousin to relent.

Philippe let out a long breath. "I am sorry. I did not mean to be harsh," he apologized. "But I need answers and you seem to have more of them than anyone other than those men and Raoul. The inspectors are with those men at the local jail and Raoul is incapable of giving answers at the moment. Henri, please," Philippe pleaded, "talk to me!"

Henri kept his head turned, his eyes closed. "I do not know what to say to you." There was a long moment before Henri turned his head, opening his eyes, fixing his gaze upon his cousin. "You do not think I had anything to do with this, do you?" Henri watched the emotions that played across Philippe's face and placed his hands upon the arms of the chair, pushing himself upward. "You do," he said sadly. "My trunks are still packed; you can send them to my parents. I will gather a horse from the stable and be gone in ten minutes." He started to turn and stopped as a hand gripped his arm. Henri looked down at the hand and then up into Philippe's hurt face.

"I will not allow you to leave," Philippe said.

"Philippe, please," Henri asked softly, "just let me go."

"Listen to me!" Philippe insisted, gripping Henri's other arm. "I do not know what I am thinking at the moment. I am amazed I even have the ability to form sentences after the events of this morning." Philippe shook his head. "I feel as if I am in a dream and I am terrified that I shall awaken and everything will be as it was yesterday. Can you understand that?"

"Yes," Henri nodded, "for a part of my life still lives within the past."

"And that is what I need you to explain to me!"

Henri nodded his head once. "You know I heard voices. I thought … I thought … I thought they were in my head. I thought too many years of drink and play were robbing me of my mind. Such thoughts kept me awake all through the last night. When the sun finally begin to rise, I made a decision – I was going to prove the voices real or I was going to give into the insanity that I feared." Henri paused, watching as Philippe shook his head in understanding.

"That was why you behaved as you did earlier," he replied. Philippe raised a hand to clasp Henri's shoulder. "Thank God you found the strength to face your fears! I do not even wish to imagine what might have happened had you not done so."

"I have not yet faced all of them," Henri said, praying Philippe would not press him further.

"You have done enough for one day!" Philippe assured him. "You have done enough for a lifetime." He squeezed the shoulder he held. "Come. I do not wish to leave Raoul alone for long, even if he is in a drugged sleep." Philippe looked pained. "He seems to need constant reassurance that he is no longer with those … bastards." The look of pain disappeared as he smiled at Henri. "And I know he wants you there."

"I want to be there," Henri said with a nod. He allowed Philippe to keep a hand on his shoulder and lead him from the library. Henri paused as the door opened.

"What?" Philippe wondered.

"What of the man we buried? Do we know who he is? Does he have a family?" Henri worried.

"The inspectors assured me they know who is buried in …" Philippe grimaced and would not say the words any longer. "We know who we buried and I have vowed to find his family and compensate them for their loss."

"Good," Henri whispered to himself. "All that remains is for Christine to return."

Ignorant of the event that had raised such joy at Chagny and – three days later – had raised the same joy in Paris, Christine sat peaceful and content in the parlor of her leased home, plying a needle through pink ribbon, ivory linen and matching lace. She tied off the thread, raised it to her lips and bit, the needle coming away from the small item in her hands. Christine sighed happily and it drew the attention of the woman seated next to her.

"Is it not sweet?" Christine asked as she held up the small bonnet for Marie to see. "And so tiny." She shook her head in wonder. "It is hard to believe any of us could ever have been so small!"

"It is beautiful," Marie agreed with her own smile. "It looks just the right size for a new baby." She shook her head. "Yet what if your child turns out to be a boy – will he not look silly in a baby bonnet tied with pink ribbons?"

Christine placed the tiny bonnet in her hands on the sofa next to her and lifted up another. "And that is why I sewed this bonnet with blue ribbons," she replied and waved the ribbons in Marie's direction, joining in Marie's laughter. Christine ran her hands down the length of the ribbon. "All those years spent sewing my own ribbons on ballet slippers came in handy."

"You do not need to do this," Marie told her. "You do not need to make a layette; you could buy one! And when you return to your family, to Paris, this child will receive more gifts than you will ever be able to use!"

"I know," Christine replied and sat quietly for a moment, fingers running over the tiny lace cap she held. "Raoul never knew his mother," she began, "and I can barely remember my own. His father was very stern and – I think – never forgave Raoul for that fact that his mother died giving birth to him. You know my father died when I was still very young. Neither of us truly knew our parents." A frown creased her brow. "Now my child will never know her father." Christine raised her eyes to look at Marie. "And when Raoul and I would speak of the children we wanted, we agreed that we would be the ones to raise our child. We would be the ones to wipe noses and tell stories, to comfort tears and tuck them in at night. We would be the ones to love our child! It was so important to us!"

"I think I can understand," Marie replied.

"But do you not see!" Christine said as she clasped the baby bonnet tightly. "That is why I am making this layette! I know my child will never want for anything! I know she," she smiled slightly, "or he will be loved by all the people who loved Raoul. But the first thing that touches my baby must be something made from love. It must be something that I made. It must be something in which my child can feel all the love I have for her – all the love I know her father would have had for her." Christine put down the small bonnet and picked up a quilted receiving blanket. "Just as you purchased this gift from her father on the day of Raoul's birthday. You knew … you knew! … that would have been something that Raoul would have done."

Marie nodded and sniffled. "I did," she admitted. "I knew Monsieur would have been buying gifts for his baby at every opportunity. I just wanted his baby to have something from her father."

A warm smile lit Christine's face, reaching up to twinkle her eyes. "And now she will. When my baby is born she will be surrounded by so much love." Christine sniffled back her own tears. "It is almost too much for me to think upon at times."

The two women sat silently for a moment, each wrapped in their private memories. The moment was broken by Christine's laugh as she reached out for her child.

"I do not think she likes for me to be melancholy," she said.

Marie nodded toward the blue-ribboned bonnet. "Or, perhaps, he does not like to be referred to as a she."

"Perhaps," Christine said and sighed. "I do not care if the baby is a boy or a girl, as long as it is born healthy and we both survive, that is all that matters. This is Raoul's child and I could not have asked for anything more precious from God. I will love Raoul's child no matter what. I will love her even if…" Christine paused and bit her lip, losing herself in memories of her teacher. "I will love this child no matter what."

"Tina has birthed three babies and never had a problem," Marie told Christine as she spoke of her niece and nephews, seeing the emotions play across Christine's face, knowing to where her thoughts had drifted. "Women have been giving birth since the Garden of Eden." Her mouth set in a determined line. "And I will not allow anything to happen to you or the baby."

"From your lips to God's ear," Christine breathed softly. "I am holding you to that promise," she smiled, reaching out to touch Marie's hand. "You have been such a good friend. How would I have ever gotten through these last months without you?"

Marie sat up a bit straighter. "I am quite certain I do not know. I am also quite certain that I do not intend to let you find out how you can get through the rest of your life," she nodded toward the prominent bulge beneath Christine's dark green gown, "or your child's life without me."

The two women stared at each for a long moment before they burst into simultaneous laughter.

"We shall go to town tomorrow," Christine finally managed, drawing deep breaths to steady the laughter that was fading into giggles. "I must see the doctor and we shall mail the letter to Philippe." The thought of her brother-in-law brought a small, beautiful smile to Christine's face. "Oh, how he will be pleased!"

The sound of the doorknocker echoing insistently interrupted anything Marie may have said and she rose to her feet. "I shall get it and return momentarily."

"Thank you," Christine said. "I am fine as long as I am down or up but it is the process of getting from one to the other that is becoming increasingly difficult!"

Marie rolled her eyes and laughed, leaving the room to answer the sound of the doorknocker once again pounding on the door.

Christine watched her friend leave and stared at the mess of sewing and boxes and tissue paper scattered about the parlor. "Our mess," she told her child, "and we need to straighten it." Christine steadied her hands on the coffee table and pushed herself upright. "Consider this your first lesson in housework," she said, picking up the bonnets, wrapping them in tissue paper before putting them into a box. She could hear the soft murmur of voices and picked up the box, placing it on a sideboard along with several others. "I wonder who is at the door?" Christine asked her child as a hand went to rub at a spot where the baby had made its presence known in a particularly determined way. "You are certainly your father's child," Christine whispered, a smile crossing her face as she turned around. "Stubborn little thing ..." Her eyes grew wide at the sight of the person standing in the parlor door. "Meg!" she exclaimed and crossed the rooms, hands outstretched.

"Christine," Meg replied softly as she found herself wrapped in Christine's embrace.

"I am so glad to see you!" Christine said as she drew back. "I was wondering when you would come for a visit! I have so much to tell you and …" Christine's voice faded as she finally took note of the pained look on Meg's face.

"I have news," Meg continued in the same soft voice.

Christine reached for the stitch that was flaring in her side. "Not your mother," she pleaded. "Please not your mother, I do not think … I cannot take …"

Meg took Christine by the arms. "It is not Maman," she said and smiled. "Maman is quite well and sends her love. And before you even ask – Erik is well, too."

"If it is not your mother and it is not Erik," Christine caught a movement over Meg's shoulder and the color drained from her face as Val and Arthur entered the parlor, followed closely by a Marie, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Oh God," Christine breathed, "Philippe. Something has happened to Philippe."

Meg reached for Arthur, urging him forward.

"It is true," Arthur said and stopped in his tracks. "you are with child." He closed his eyes and shook his head.

Christine winced slightly and massaged the stitch in her side. "What has happened? Please tell me it is not Philippe! Please!" she begged and watched as Arthur opened his eyes. Christine looked down as Arthur took her hands before raising frightened eyes to his face.

"It is not Philippe," Arthur assured her. "It is Raoul." There was no easy way to lighten the impact Arthur's next words. "He is alive."

Christine was silent for a moment before taking her hands back, an angry look coming over her face. "That is just cruel! How dare you! How dare you come here and … and …" Christine broke into tears and turned to Meg. "How could you do this to me?" She looked at Val and Marie. "How could any of you allow this to happen? How? How could you be capable of such cruelty?" She coughed, her hands reaching down to support her child. "I buried my husband!" Christine hissed between clenched teeth.

"Christine," Meg said. "You know I would never hurt you. I would never do anything to hurt you." She turned to look at her husband. "Neither would Val."

Val nodded. "Arthur came to us three days ago with the very words on his lips that he just told you. We knew you would need to see him, tthat you would want to go home to Raoul – to the man you love."

Arthur placed his hands calmly by his side. "Vicomtess," he began gently. "Nearly a week ago, Philippe and I chased your cousin Henri to the cemetery – the reasons are best left for later. There we found what we thought were graverobbers. We overpowered them and found your husband alive in his own crypt." He shook his head. "It was Henri who suspected that the Vicomte was there and it was Henri who saved your husband's life." Once again he reached for Christine's hands. "You know I would never lie to you. When I left Chagny, Senor Gallardo was just arriving to treat the Vicomte. He is alive, Madame."

A stunned Christine was silent for a moment, the tears disappearing from her eyes. "Raoul is alive?" she whispered.

Arthur took back one of his hands and placed it over his heart. "I swear on my eternal soul that your husband is alive."

Christine's lids lowered over eyes that flitted back and forth, thoughts racing behind them. "Dear God," she whispered as the color drained from her face.

"Christine!" Marie exclaimed, pushing her way forward, taking Christine by the arms. "Are you all right?"

"Sit," Christine managed to say.

Marie guided Christine back to the sofa, helping her to sit, aware of the worried eyes that watched them. Marie looked over her shoulder for a moment. "She has had problems over these last months." She turned her attention back to Christine. "Are you all right?" Marie repeated.

"I think … I think … I am fine," Christine nodded. "We are fine." She raised teary eyes to Arthur. "I need to be with him! Do you know when the next train leaves?"

The next train left late that afternoon and upon being informed it would take four days to reach Lyon, Christine withdrew into herself. Accompanied by Meg, Val, Arthur, Marie and the barest of luggage, Christine sat quietly watching the colorful autumn countryside roll past the train windows. When not sitting, Christine meekly gave in to Marie's urgings to rest. She lay still on one of the small beds in the private train car, stunned, unable to focus on anything beyond the words that kept playing over and over in her head, echoing the clackity-clackity-clack of the train wheels:

"_Raoul is alive."_

Marie and Meg, both familiar with Christine's moods, watched anxiously for a sign that she was succumbing to the stress, the shock. They waited for her to explode or to break down yet there was nothing. There was no sign of any emotion from Christine. She just sat quietly, lost in a maelstrom of thoughts and emotions that no one could penetrate. The only sign of life they could detect was when Christine would whisper to her baby whilse she traced gentle circles over the chid's movements, the softly spoken words unintelligible and meant only for the baby and God.

Finally, nearly two weeks to the day after Raoul had been found, two coaches rolled to a stop at the bottom of the steps that led to the main door of Chagny. One of the coaches was piled with luggage, the other coach that bore no luggage was the first to stop, its door flinging open. A man jumped from the coach, extending his hands and helping a pregnant woman alight. She ignored his offer of further assistance and climbed the stairs before her as quickly as her condition would allow, trusting that those behind would follow her. She did not pause to knock at the main door but burst through, leaving it open.

Finally the explosion that Meg and Marie had feared let loose.

Christine turned to the stunned valet who was rising to his feet. "Where is my husband?" she demanded.

The valet held out his hand to stop the armed officer who had also risen to his feet. "Vicomtess …" he stammered, his eyes straying to her mid-section.

Christine turned her anger toward the officer. "Put that gun down," she ordered, "or are you in the habit of shooting expectant mothers?" She turned her attention back to the valet. "I asked a question – where is my husband?" she repeated.

"Christine?" a voice called.

Christine turned to see Raoul's sisters approaching down the main hallway. They paused as the reached the bottom of the grand staircase, staring at Christine.

"Yes," Christine said, taking note of where their eyes were looking. "I am with child. And – yes – this is Raoul's baby." She drew a deep breath. "I have just spent nearly a week on a train. I am tired. My back hurts. My feet hurt. I have a headache and I am getting angrier and more anxious by the moment. Now, will someone please tell me where my husband is!" Christine's frustration caused her voice to rise with each word. She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Meg, Val and Arthur behind her. Marie was standing just beyond the open front door.

There was a shocked silence in the great chateau. This was not the frightened, unsure little girl who had suddenly found herself the wife of titled man; this was a Vicomtess.

Christine turned her attention back to Desiree and Charlotte. "If one of you does not tell me where Raoul is, I shall begin tearing this chateau apart stone-by-stone and when I am done with the chateau, I shall tear you apart until someone tells me …"

"Christine!" a male voice called, footsteps rapidly tapping down the stairs.

"Philippe," Christine breathed as she crossed to meet Philippe at the bottom of the stairs. She embraced him warmly and nodded as Philippe drew back, watching as his eyes strayed downward. "Yes, I am with child," she repeated in a soft, tired tone. "Where is Raoul?"

"Come with me," Philippe said, taking her hand, walking her up the stairs. "He is in his room." A smile crossed his face. "The room you share with him."

"Philippe," Christine said with a shake of her head and paused as they reached the top of the stairs, wincing, reaching for her side.

"What is wrong?" Philippe worried.

"Nothing," Christine said. "A slight twinge; I have grown used to it. I need to see Raoul. Please!"

Philippe wrapped his arm about her shoulders. "Not nearly as much as he needs to see you."

"Another officer?" Christine wondered as they stopped outside of Raoul's door and she took note of the armed man sitting against the wall.

"I shall tell you later," Philippe promised and placed gentle hands on Christine's arms. "Christine, I do not know much Arthur has told you but Raoul has been ill-used. They never stopped their abuse." Philippe shook his head. "The doctors will return in the morning and will be able to tell you about his condition in great detail but for now, I want you to be prepared. He is not the same man who was taken from us."

Christine studied Philippe's face. "I understand," she acknowledged, "but I do not care. I love him and I need to be with him." She reached for her child. "We need to be with him."

Philippe reached for the door handle. "Come then," he said and opened the door. "He is drugged for the pain and may not know you are here," Philippe warned and moved aside to let Christine enter.

"Oh dear God, Raoul," she whimpered as she paused in the doorway. Christine could feel Philippe's reassuring hand on her back but her attention was entirely focused on the man before her.

Raoul lay on the bed, his eyes closed, arms resting by his sides. Bandages wrapped around several of his fingers and a similar bandage wrapped around his chest and extended around one shoulder. Christine's eyes filled with tears as she took note of her husband's sunken cheeks, the short-cropped hair. "What did they do to you?" she whispered as her eyes traveled down the length of his body, taking note of the bandaged leg that lay outside the blankets.

The sound of Raoul moaning drew Christine back to the moment and she quickly crossed to his side, placing a cool hand against his cheek, her other hand going to hold lightly to one of his. "It is all right, Raoul," Christine said gently as she reached in and placed a kiss against his forehead, drawing back, shocked at the heightened temperature of her husband's skin. "I am here now and I love you." Christine raised the hand she held and rested it against the motion of their child. "We love you." A smile grew on Christine's face as Raoul's eyes fluttered open, focusing on her.

"Christine," he breathed, the ghost of a smile crossing his lips. "Safe." His eyes closed again.

Christine bit her bottom lip and placed Raoul's hand back on the bed. "Sleep, Raoul," she said softly and leaned over, placing a kiss on his lips. She felt the hand she still held squeeze her own. "I love you, too," she whispered.


	61. Chapter 61

**Chapter Summary:** Christine finds that she cannot sleep and goes to seek out her husband. And in the middle of the night a family is found. Erik breakfasts with Antoinette and receives some news that turns his world upside down.

CHAPTER SIXTY ONE

Sleep did not come easy for Christine that night. She was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to crawl into a bed – any bed – put her head down and find peace in a dark stillness she would not remember in the light of day. Christine wanted to reclaim the sweet dreams she had lost over the last four and a half months. She wanted to find a slumber not haunted by nightmares and loss. She wanted to forget the constant stares and whispers that had followed her as she had moved in a trance throughout the chateau. She wanted to forget the still accusing glances from her husband's sisters and the pained eyes of her husband's cousin that would not meet her own. Christine wanted to hold to the loving arms of Meg and the strong support of Val. She wanted to cling to the unfaltering friendship that Marie offered. She wanted to hide in the steadfast love that Philippe had always shown her.

"I want to be with your father," Christine said as she rolled over and sat up, rubbing at her side. She rose from her bed, slipping a shawl over her shoulders and glanced at the mantle clock – three a.m. Christine shook her head. "I am not going to get any sleep this way," she muttered to herself as she crossed her bedroom floor.

Christine opened the door and slipped quietly from her room, the man in the seat across the hall instantly springing upright. Christine shook her head at him and raised a finger to her lips. He nodded at her and opened the door to Raoul's room. Christine gave the man a smile as she walked through the door, knowing he would close it behind her and she stood silently just inside the door, the tears coming to her eyes as she looked at what had become of her husband. The nurse rose from her seat and crossed to Christine's side.

"I need to be with him," Christine whispered as she wiped at her tears.

The nurse nodded. "I thought you might. There is a rocking chair next to the bed and there are extra pillows to support your back."

"Thank you," Christine replied. "I would like that." She turned from the nurse and walked to the side of Raoul's bed and placed her hands on the shoulders of the man bent over, dozing in his chair. "Philippe," she said softly.

Philippe raised his head and blinked, looking up at the voice. "Christine," he said and swallowed. "Should you not be sleeping?"

"Not without my husband," she said with a slight smile and turned to take the pillow from the nurse, placing it on the rocker and settling down. "Thank you," Christine sighed and smiled at the nurse. "That is very nice."

The nurse nodded, gave a long look at her slumbering patient and returned to her seat.

Christine watched as Philippe yawned and ran a hand through his hair. "Why do you not get some sleep?" she suggested. "I will stay with Raoul." Christine reached out for her husband's hand. "I need to stay with him. I need to touch him. I need to know that this is real."

Philippe nodded tiredly. "I understand completely." He stretched and stood up, placing a kiss on Christine's head. "If you need anything …"

"The nurse is right here," Christine replied. "I will be fine." A slight frown creased her face. "Please, Philippe, I need some time alone with Raoul. Please!" she pleaded.

Philippe nodded and turned back to his brother, he touched Raoul's forehead, leaving his hand to linger for a moment. "I would entrust your care to few others," Christine heard him whisper before Philippe straightened.

Christine smiled at Philippe as he gave her shoulder one last caress before quietly leaving the room. As she heard the door close, Christine turned her attention to her husband. "Oh Raoul," she said sadly, a single finger caressing the back of his hand. In the dim light from the gas lamps above his bed, Christine finally took the time to survey her husband's condition. Her free hand went out to lightly trace the bandages that wound about his torso, knowing there were stitches across his chest, an inflammation of the knife wound in his shoulder. Christine could not see the cracked ribs that were slowly healing or the bruised, congested lungs but she could hear the damage in her husband's raspy breathing. Christine bit her bottom lip and gently raised the bedding and blanched at what greeted her eyes.

She was not prepared for the sight of the long scar that traveled from one side of her husband's body to the other. Nor was she prepared for the multiple bruises in various shades, all in the process of healing. A single finger reached out to trace the small scars that Christine could see and she frowned, feeling the tears gather again at the corners of her eyes, not wishing to know what injuries had caused the scarring. She gently placed the covers back over Raoul and turned her attention to the bandages that wound over his thigh from hip to knee, knowing the wound beneath those bandages was also inflamed. Christine shook her head at how thin her husband's leg was, at how thin her husband had become. She could no longer look at the bruises and tiny scars that marred the skin she had once loved to caress. And Christine had no desire to even think upon the bandaged fingers that rested under her hand; she turned her eyes back to Raoul's face.

Christine reached out to trace her husband's brow, allowing her fingers to follow the drawn features of his face. The tears slipped down her cheeks and the guilt welled in her heart as she thought of all the horrors Raoul must have endured while she had sat safe in her home by the sea. Christine let her fingers trace upwards to Raoul's scalp and they paused there before she drew them back, not wishing to damage the head injuries Philippe had told her the doctors had discovered. Instead, Christine took her fingers and ran them lightly down the straight plane of Raoul's nose before using them to trace the outline of his lips. Christine let her fingers rest there as she smiled, reacting to the slow movement of her child.

"Yes," she whispered. "This is your father. And we are going to help him get well so that when you are born, he will be able to hold you in his arms." Christine was startled as Raoul's eyelids fluttered and the lips beneath her fingers moved.

"Angel," Raoul breathed, his eyes slowly opening.

Christine leaned forward, placing her hand against Raoul's cheek. "I am right here, my love."

But Raoul was not focused on Christine. "Please do not leave me again."

A frown crossed Christine's face. "Raoul?"

"I do need you!"

Christine closed eyes and bit back a pained cry.

"Please stay!" Raoul pleaded with an unseen presence, his head shaking once, his free hand reaching out. "No, she left. She took our baby and left." The exertion to speak took its toll on Raoul and he panted softly for a moment, looking at the ceiling. "It is fine. She is safe. He cannot hurt them."

"Raoul," Christine said as she opened her eyes, her hand caressing his cheek, "I am right here. I came back and I am not leaving. I love you!" Raoul's eyes traveled back to the end of his bed and Christine knew he was not focused on the nurse who was looking at him with concern.

"I am afraid," Raoul whispered.

"You need never be afraid again," Christine whispered to him.

"What if she is not there?" Raoul asked his unseen visitor. "What if it was only a dream?"

"I am here and I not a dream!" Christine insisted. "Please, Raoul! Just look at me!"

"Just look," Raoul breathed as his eyes closed. "Just look," he repeated as he turned his head. "My angel says to just look." Raoul slowly opened his eyes, blinking twice as a frown creased his features. "Christine?" he asked.

A broad smile lit Christine's face. "Raoul," she answered him and felt Raoul melt into the hand she rested on his cheek.

"Oh God, Christine," Raoul said softly, his chin trembling. "Christine."

Christine slowly pushed herself up from the rocking chair and leaned over the bed. She smiled down at her husband and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. "Raoul," she breathed and kissed him again, her lips turning up in delight as she felt Raoul respond. "I love you," she whispered against her husband's lips, their child stirring as Christine's heart soared with each returned kiss she felt against her own lips. "I have someone who wants to meet you," Christine said as she reluctantly drew back.

"No!" Raoul exclaimed as Christine raised his hand. "No more … no more …"

"Raoul," Christine said, her voice trembling. She waited for a moment as she found the spot where their baby was moving and placed Raoul's hand over his child. "Do you not wish to meet your child?" she asked softly and watched as Raoul's eyes left her face, tracing downwards to where she held his hand over her swollen mid-section.

"My child?" Raoul wondered.

Christine held her breath as she felt Raoul's fingers match each tiny movement beneath them.

"My child," Raoul wondered.

"Your child," Christine echoed, watching as Raoul's gaze returned to her face, her tears flowing freely as she saw the tiny sparkle in his blue eyes, the small, amazed smile on his lips. "Your child," she insisted. Christine gently moved Raoul's hand so that he could follow the baby's movements. "And she loves you." Christine laughed through her tears. "I can tell."

"She?"

"I have always thought that this baby shall be the daughter for whom you dreamed," Christine told him. "She is going to have blonde curls and blue eyes and …" Christine swallowed down the deep sobs that were threatening – Raoul did not need to hear them – and let out a long breath. "That is the dream to which I have clung all these months. It is what has kept you close in my memory and alive in my heart." She could not help the one sob that escaped. "And now it is no longer a dream! You are alive and it is a miracle!" Christine watched as the moment overwhelmed Raoul and he turned to look back at the ceiling, the tears streaming down his cheeks.

"I will see my child," he whispered.

Christine continued to move Raoul's hand over their child. "You will see her and hold her and love her and she will adore you. I know." Christine's voice lowered. "I adore you."

"Christine," came the choked plea as Raoul turned slightly to his side, his other hand reaching for her.

"Raoul," Christine whispered back as she gently took his offered hand and leaned over to kiss him again, turning her cheek to rest against his own, tears mingling as a family was reunited.

"I love you," Raoul breathed. "I love you," he repeated.

"I love you," Christine replied gently, her words meant for Raoul's ears alone.

"Stay with me," Raoul begged. "Please do not leave me alone."

Christine straightened and turned back toward the rocking chair.

"No!" Raoul cried and Christine turned back to him. "Please stay with me."

It finally dawned upon Christine what her husband was asking of her and she nodded. "I am afraid I am a bit clumsy," she said as she gave Raoul back his hands and turned to the nurse. "It will be all right?" she worried softly.

"I am only here to watch over Monsieur's health," the nurse replied. "I see nothing else that happens," she finished with a smile and returned to her seat.

Christine nodded at the nurse and moved around the edge of the bed, knowing that Raoul's eyes never left her, his hands still reaching for her. "I promise to be careful," Christine said as she reached the other side of the bed. She sat down near the top of the mattress and arranged two pillows against the headboard, next to Raoul, before swinging her legs upward. Christine pushed herself back against the pillows so that she was reclining next to Raoul and she turned to smile down at the anxious, worried face looking back at her. "Your favorite pillow is still here," she whispered, a smile lighting her face. "Although, you may find it a bit softer."

Christine watched as Raoul drew a deep, steadying breath and gathered his strength before closing the small space between them. She sighed happily as he placed his head on her chest, one hand going to rest atop her protruding belly. Christine placed an arm about her husband's shoulder and with her other hand, guided his until it rested over their child. "Sleep," Christine said as she placed a kiss on Raoul's head, feeling him sigh.

"My family," Raoul breathed as his eyes closed.

And that was how Philippe found them in the morning when he opened the door to the bedroom to look in on his brother. His eyes turned toward the bed and softened as he saw Christine and Raoul sleeping, wrapped in each other's arms, both of them with hands protectively over their child. Philippe raised his eyes toward the crisp, blue sky shining just beyond the windows. "Thank you, God," he breathed, as he gently closed the door and went downstairs to breakfast, a smile on his lips, a song in his heart, his step lighter than it had been in months.

The bright blue of an autumn sky could also be seen from the windows of Madame Giry's dining room. It filtered in through fine lace curtains, looking over the breakfast laid upon the small round table. It saw the man and woman seated at the table, empty plates before them. It watched as the woman raised a fine silver coffee pot and poured steaming, aromatic liquid into the man's cup. It watched as he smiled at her, taking a sip of the coffee before leaning back in his chair, a contented sigh passing his lips.

"That was a lovely meal," Erik said. "Thank you for asking me to breakfast."

Antoinette took a sip of her own coffee as she frowned playfully at her breakfast companion. "Food seems to be the only way I can get your attention," she told him. "You have been stuck up in that garett for the last weeks." Her eyes traveled appraisingly over Erik. "It would appear you have neglected all else for whatever it is you have been doing."

Erik chose to ignore her. "Have you had any further word from your daughter?"

Antoinette did not need to ask what word Erik was seeking. "No," she replied with a shake of her head. "There has been no word since the telegram that said they had arrived safely in Lyon." Antoinette thought for a moment. "That was three days ago; I would think I should have a telegram either today or tomorrow." She leaned back in her own chair. "I still cannot believe it! Raoul has been alive all these months! What kind of men would be capable of such … such … an action?"

Erik winced. "I know perfectly well what kind of men," he said softly, picking up the napkin from his lap and running it through his fingers.

"I did not include you in that question," Antoinette said, feeling the need to remind Erik of the changes he had fought so hard to bring forth in himself, the changes with which he still struggled.

"I know," Erik sighed and placed his napkin on the table. He rose to his feet, walking to the window, moving the lace aside so he could look upon the outside world. "Yet I cannot help but think upon what might have been." He shook his head. "If Christine had not kissed me that night, if I had not seen what real love meant, I could have easily been one such as those men who took Raoul. I could have – no – I would have willingly sunk lower and lower into the depths of my own corrupt soul, finding myself capable of …" Erik paused and drew a deep breath, letting the lace fall back, shutting out the world beyond. "I do not even wish to think of the types of cruelty of which I might have been capable."

"Self introspection is a useful excersize," Antoinette told him. "It allows us to see our faults and to correct them." She frowned. "But that does not mean we wallow in them. Nor do we hold onto the past or what might have been."

"You are correct, of course," Erik said, a slight smile playing across his lips, "as usual." He stood silently for a moment. "Yet I cannot help but think upon Raoul … and Christine," he admitted rather reluctantly.

"I do as well," Antoinette said. "I wonder what the future holds for them now. Surely Raoul will not be the same man he once was." She shuddered as she thought about the words that Arthur had spoken, the condition of the Vicomte when he had been found. "He will have a very long road to recovery before him."

Erik, too, knew of his former rival's condition having heard the news from Antoinette. "If he even recovers," he breathed.

"Erik!" Antoinette admonished him.

"I did not mean that the way it sounded!" Erik insisted. "From what you heard of his injuries, the lack of care – surely it would be difficult to recover from such things. Men die from less!"

"I am perfectly aware of that!" Antoinette replied, burying the thoughts of the husband she had buried and the silly little fall that had taken him from her. "Yet I refuse to believe that God would send Raoul back to his family – to Christine and their child – only to take him away again."

Erik walked back to the table and resumed his seat, a hand reaching for his coffee and drawing back. "I only pray you are correct." He shook his head. "I would hate to think what it would do to Christine to learn that Raoul was alive all these months only to have him truly die."

A look of amazement crossed Antoinette's face. "Well, I never!" she exclaimed.

Now Erik was puzzled. "You never … what?" he wondered.

Antoinette laughed for a moment before raising her hand to cover her lips, struggling to get her mirth under control. Finally, she lowered her hand, the laughter gone from her lips but still evident in her eyes. "I never thought I would live to see the day when you would actually think of someone beside yourself!"

"I have been enchanted," Erik said, his eyes turning downward, studying the folded hands in his lap. "And I find I cannot find my way out of the enchantment." His voice lowered, growing soft. "Nor do I wish to find my out." He drew a deep breath and raised his head. "Have you heard from her?" Erik asked.

Antoinette did not need to Erik to define his pronoun; she knew perfectly well which "her" to whom he was referring. "I have," Antoinette said, "and she is having a very lovely time with her family." It was not entirely a lie.

"How nice for her," Erik muttered. "But when is she returning! Surely you must miss her companionship." He waved toward the windows. "And surely there must be much work for her parents on the Baron's farm! It is harvest time and Tallis must be in the way or she is helping them and only making matters worse or …" Erik shook his head. "Surely she will wish to be back in Paris before the first snowfall comes to cover the countryside and she cannot get away from that damnable country …"

"Erik!"

"I have something for her," Erik said like a disappointed child whose gift of dandelions had been refused. "You wondered what I have been doing behind the locked door of my garett so I shall tell you – I have finished the song I promised Tallis." A light began to glow in his eyes as he spoke of Tallis and the music. "It is everything she is – everything we are together! It is sad and sweet. It is slow and builds to a frenzy only to slow again. There are so many grace notes dancing through the composition – much as she dances through my life. Yet the underlying melody that ties it all together, the music that I hear when I think upon her, is simple and uncomplicated. It is open and honest. It is simply Tallis, each note echoing a beat of the beauty of her heart."

Antoinette had watched Erik's face as he spoke of his music, the animation, the life, his words brought forth. She had seen the small light begin to glow in his eyes, spreading to encompass his entire face. She had heard the joy in his voice as he had described his composition; the joy yielding to the emotion that motivated Erik's expression, his voice, his passion. Antoinette had finally heard the one thing in Erik's voice that he had longed to hear from Christine, the one thing that Tallis had longed to hear from him. Antoinette heard the love in his voice and she reached a single finger up to massage her brow. "Oh dear," she whispered.

Erik paused as he heard Antoinette's pained whisper, the light beginning to fade from his face. "What is wrong?" he asked, waiting for an answer that was not immediately given. Erik's face grew a bit darker. "What do you know that you are not telling me?" he asked, his tone slightly demanding.

"What do you remember of your conversations with Tallis?" Antoinette asked.

"Every single word," came the clipped reply. "What do you know?"

Antoinette ignored the darkness that was beginning to overtake Erik; she had seen it far too often to let it rattle her composure. "Do you remember a conversation with her wherein Tallis warned you that if she ever saw that you did not wish to be free of Christine she would leave and never come back?"

"Not particularly," Erik said from between clenched teeth. "What has she done?" Erik asked, waiting, watching and he exploded. "Will you tell me what that damn woman has done!"

Antoinette crossed her arms over chest, raising an eyebrow at the man seated across the table from her, watching as he drew several deep breaths, struggling to get his anger under control.

"Will you please tell me what Tallis has done and where she may be?" Erik asked in a tightly controlled, even tone of voice.

"That is better," Antoinette muttered to herself before continuing. "Tallis and I spoke of you often. She was searching for reassurance and I was offering her insight into your character."

Erik, too, crossed his arms over his chest. "That is lovely," he grumped.

"Do you wish to have answers or do you wish to simply interrupt?" Antoinette wondered.

"Answers," Erik replied. "I shall remain silent."

Antoinette had doubt about the veracity of his words but she continued onward. "Tallis said that shortly before you returned to Christine that last time, she saw something in your eyes when you spoke of Christine. She said she saw hope in them."

"But …" Erik tried.

"Ah, ah," Antoinette warned and waited until Erik had composed himself. "Tallis knew that you were planning on returning to Christine time and time again and she no longer wished to subject herself to your nonsense. She no longer wished to fight what she perceived as a losing battle."

The silence in the room was broken by Erik's outburst. "She … what?"

"She loved you, Erik," Antoinette told him. "And you could not see it. You could not see beyond that obsession you have with Christine …"

"That is over and done with!" Erik interrupted as he rose to his feet and began to stalk back and forth angrily across the small dining room. "She knew I needed Christine's forgiveness! She was the one who told me to find it! Christine and I have forgiven each other and we are no longer part of each other's lives!" He shook his head and ran a hand through what remained of his hair. "She could not wait just a moment longer! She just had to run like every other damn woman in my life! She …"

Antoinette, too, rose to her feet, placing her hands on the table. "Do not be such a child!" she ordered. "Tallis loved you enough to let you go. She loved you enough to give you the freedom to be with the woman she saw in your eyes." Antoinette let out a long breath. "She is far too good for you and – while I miss her dearly – I am glad she is gone!" Antoinette watched as Erik froze in mid-step, turning an amazed countenance to her. "Yes, I am glad she is gone! You do not deserve her!"

"But I love her," Erik said and crumpled onto the nearest chair, his head going to his hands. "I love her."

Antoinette stood silently, watching as the head in Erik's hands shook back and forth, listening to his pained words.

"What have I done? No. No. No. I have done it again. I have pushed away the grace in my life. I have destroyed the beauty in my world. I have killed the fragility of love. I have …"

"You have been behaving like a spoilt child, is what you have been doing," Antoinette snorted, watching as Erik lifted his head to look at her. "Are you quite finished now? Are you ready to grow up? Are you ready to be a man who loves a woman and is willing to let her go, if that is what she wishes?"

"What are you saying?" Erik wondered.

"I know where Tallis can be found," Antoinette said, holding up a hand as Erik jumped to his feet. "I should warn you that she has found a new position that makes her very happy. She is working for good people and may not wish you to be a part of her new life. Knowing that, if I tell you where she is and you go to her, will you accede to her wishes?"

"Yes," Erik breathed.

"No matter what they may be?" Antoinette wondered.

"I swear," Erik replied in a somber tone. "I will do whatever Tallis wishes."

Antoinette nodded - a curt gesture. "I will tell you where she is," she began. "And then I am finished," she warned. "I am getting far too old for all this intrigue. I just wish to have a quiet life and enjoy my grandchild when it is born. Is that clearly understood?"

Erik nodded his head. "Yes," he said. "I promise I shall not draw you into any further intrigue and I shall do whatever it is that Tallis wishes."

Antoinette wondered when the truth would ever slip through Erik's lips.


	62. Chapter 62

**Chapter Summary:** Christine confronts the doctors about their treatment of her husband, making radical changes in how they will care for Raoul. The emotional distress causes a bit of an anxious moment for Christine and her child. She reaches out to Raoul's sisters who are reaching for her. And Raoul receives some visitors and some happy news.

_**Author's Note:** Many thanks to the folks over at the LiveJournal community _"little details"_ who guided me on how Raoul's injuries would have healed over his time in captivity, the fact that homeopathy was "in vogue" during the last part of the 19th century and all their valuable clues as to what natural items treat what symptoms. Did you know that willow bark contains the same ingredient as aspirin? That community is a valuable resource for any writer who needs just a bit more wisdom to add to their own research._

CHAPTER SIXTY TWO

Christine sat in the dining room at the small table normally reserved for family meals. She dipped her spoon listlessly in and out of the porridge before her. In a complete break with all etiquette she had ever learned, Christine had her elbow on the table, her head resting in her hand and she was staring at the soupy mixture before her. She stirred her spoon back and forth, tracing patterns in the oatmeal; unaware of the people seated with her.

"Christine?" Meg tried and upon receiving no answer turned her attention to her husband.

Val nodded at his wife and turned his attention toward Christine. "Christine, you really should eat," he said. "You are not doing yourself or your child," Val played his trump card, "or Raoul any good if you become weak from lack of food."

Christine frowned at her bowl. "I did not like porridge when I had to eat it as a child. I did not like it when I was ordered to eat it by the doctor in Boulogne." She raised her head, a sad look on her face. "And I do not like it now." She sighed and placed her spoon on the table. "I cannot do this," she said, raising her eyes to the ceiling. "I should be up there with Raoul; he needs me." Christine's eyes looked down as a hand covered hers.

"What you need to do is stay healthy," Meg said. "I know that this child is going to make all the difference in the world for you and for Raoul. You cannot risk anything happening now." A frown momentarily crossed her face. "Not now."

"I know," Christine nodded. "I know." Her chin quivered as she tried to control her emotions. "But, Meg, you should see him. He has been so … so … I cannot believe what they did to him!" Christine turned to look at Val. "I do not understand why anyone would be so cruel! How could they let us think he was dead? How could they do those things to him? Why? Why?"

Val shook his head. "I wish I had answers. I cannot even begin to comprehend the minds and motivations of such men. I understand that cruelty happens in war and I understand that it is a constant part of our world outside of battle. Yet – this! – I just … I do not understand and I do not think I ever will."

Christine watched as Meg took her hand back to lay it over her husband and they exchanged a meaningful look. "What is it?" Christine wondered watching as Val nodded at his wife. "Please," she pleaded, "I do not think I can take anymore shocks for - at least - the rest of my life."

"It is happy news," Val said softly as he turned to his wife.

Meg was glowing. "Christine, do you remember that silly little dream we had long ago that when we were married and had children that they would be the best of friends – just like we are."

Christine smiled. "I do remember!" She sighed. "Oh, those were carefree days!"

"It is not a dream," Meg said.

Christine's mouth opened and closed several times. "Meg!" she exclaimed and leaned over to gather Meg into her arms. "I cannot even believe it! I am so happy for you!" Christine drew back to smile at Val. "For you both!" She reached up to wipe at the tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. "Oh, this is such joyous news! You are going to be such wonderful parents!" She watched as Val took his wife's hand and smiled at Meg.

"We are very happy, as well," he said, raising Meg's hand to his lips. "Very happy, indeed."

"I know your baby is expected in January," Meg said, "and our baby is expected sometime in May." She thought for a moment. "I think." And then Meg laughed. "This is all so new to me!"

"Do not look to me!" Christine said. "It is all still new to me, as well!" A smile began to grow on her face. "We should go upstairs and tell Raoul. I know he is anxious to see you both and more happy news will surely help his spirits."

Meg and Christine waited until Val had risen and drew back their chairs. Val tried giving his hands to Christine but she waved him off with a little smile and awkwardly got to her feet.

"All the grace of a dancer is gone," she sighed, watching the expression change on Meg's face.

"Oh dear," Meg breathed.

Val gave his wife a quick peck on the cheek. "There is nothing for you to fret over," he tried assuring her.

"Absolutely nothing," Christine finished as she slipped her arm through Meg's and they walked out the door, Val following.

They walked toward the front of the chateau, ignoring the quiet chatter that reached their ears. As they turned to go up the grand staircase, the young valet at the front door rose to his feet.

"Pardon me, Vicomtess," he said and Christine turned to him.

"Yes?" she wondered.

"I was told to let you know that the doctors have arrived and are with Monsieur," he said

Christine nodded to the young man, giving him a small smile that caused him to blush before turning back to Meg and Val. "I should be there," she said. "I need to know just how bad Raoul's injuries are."

"I hope you do not mind if we know, as well," Meg said. "I know that Maman is worried for him and I should like to telegraph her and let her know his condition."

"I think that is another of the things that will help to lift Raoul's spirits," Christine told Meg as they began to climb the staircase. "I do not think he has any idea of all the people who will surely be sending prayers and good wishes his way once they knew he is still alive."

"I am sure they will be," Val replied and nodded toward the small gathering of people pacing impatiently at the end of the hall. "That is Raoul's room?"

Christine bit back the laugh that rose to her lips. "How could you possibly tell?" she wondered.

"My dear," Charlotte said as she saw Christine approaching.

Christine managed a smile for her husband's sister. Surely if Charlotte could make the effort, so could she.

"Did the valet tell you that the doctors are in with Raoul?" she asked.

Before Christine could answer, Raoul's voice could be heard yelling through the door. "No more!" Raoul pleaded with someone. "No more!"

Christine rushed to the door, flinging it open. She barely saw Philippe standing at the end of Raoul's bed or Henri who sat by his cousin's side, a comforting hand on Raoul's shoulder. All Christine could see was Raoul and the state of panic he appeared to be in. She moved quickly to her husband's side, pushing past the bodies blocking her way. "Raoul?" she asked as he reached for her hands.

"No more pain, Christine," Raoul told her. "I cannot take any more pain!" Raoul closed his eyes. "Dear God," he whispered, "please – no more!"

"You will not have to," Christine told him, letting go of one of Raoul's shaking hands as she turned to face the four men before her. She nodded at Senor Gallardo but did not recognize the other three. "What are you doing to my husband?"

"These are the doctors, Christine," Philippe quickly interjected, shocked at the tone of Christine's voice. "They are trying to treat Raoul."

"Treat him?" Christine asked, her eyes never leaving the doctors. "It appears to me that they are trying to kill him." Christine watched as the young doctor next to Senor Gallardo turned his head away.

"Madame Vicomtess?" one of the older gentlemen cleared his throat.

"That is correct," Christine told him. "You have me at a disadvantage, Monsieur."

The man bowed slightly from the waist. "I am Monsieur Poirier." He waved to the man next to him. "This is Monsieur Saint-Preux," and he nodded to the young man next to Senor Gallardo. "And that is Monsieur Corhei."

"Now that the pleasantries are over," Christine said, a grim look on her face, "I believe I asked you what you were doing to my husband?"

"We need to remove his bandages and treat the inflammation of his wounds," Monsieur Saint-Preux replied. "It is a simple procedure and has not usually provoked such a reaction from our patient."

Christine gently squeezed the hand she felt squeezing her own.

"Christine," Philippe said and Christine turned to look at him. "Raoul has been improving greatly since we brought him home but during those first days, he was heavily drugged." Philippe frowned and seemed to be thinking. "Perhaps, that is why he did not realize when the doctors were here."

"Christine," came the raspy request for attention and Christine turned to look at her husband, leaning forward so that Raoul could speak only to her. "No more drugs. No more iodine." Raoul looked as if he wanted to cry. "No more pain, please!"

"I promise," Christine whispered and placed a gentle kiss on Raoul's lips, raising her head and giving Henri a small smile as he took his cousin's hand in his free one. "Thank you," she mouthed before turning back to the doctors. "I want everyone in the hallway," she stated.

"Madame," Monsieur Poirier began, "I do not think you realize what it is you are doing. The patient needs to be treated."

"The patient – as you refer to him – is my husband," Christine told the doctor, her tone deadly, her little nose going up in the air. "And I am not an ignorant girl who is frightened of a man with graying hair." There was a cold silence in the room. "Now, are we going to stand here accomplishing nothing or shall we all step into the hallway?"

The doctors pointedly ignored Christine and turned their attention to Philippe – who was all ready moving toward the open door. Christine watched as the doctors followed in Philippe's wake before turning her attention back to Raoul and Henri.

"Will you stay with him?" she asked Henri.

"Gladly," Henri replied softly, giving his cousin's shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

Christine turned her attention to Raoul. "I will be but a few moments," she promised, giving Raoul one last kiss before straightening, turning on her heel and walking out of the bedroom, closing the door behind her. Christine kept her back to the door to her husband's room, guarding the room and the precious life inside with the fierceness of a warrior. "One last time," Christine said as she addressed the rather stunned doctors. "What are you trying to do to my husband?"

"Madame," Monsieur Poirier addressed her, "pray forgive my bluntness but in your condition, you should not even be in that room. You are endangering your child by exposing yourself to whatever it is that has caused the inflammation of your husband's most recent wounds."

The breath of an angel could have been heard in the silence that descended upon the group gathered outside of Raoul's bedroom.

"Understand this," Christine spat, "I have spent these last five months believing that my husband was dead. I had not even told him I was carrying our child before we thought him lost to us forever. And you will never know the guilt I bear for what he has had to endure." A look of hatred descended upon Christine's face. "So do not presume to tell me that I am endangering myself or our child by simply being in the same room with the man that I love." She glowered at everyone staring at her. "Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

Monsieur Poirier swallowed. "Perfectly, Madame."

"Now that we are clear on that point," Christine said, "let us be perfectly clear on the other point – you will immediately stop your treatment of my husband."

"What?" Desiree blurted out.

"Surely, Christine," Charlotte tried, holding out her hands.

Monsieur Saint-Preux drew himself up. "We are physicians and we have taken an oath to treat those who need our assistance."

"Treat," Christine told him, "not traumatize! I am thankful for what you have done to bring my husband this far but whatever it is you are doing now is terrifying him. It is obvious that Raoul has been through more in these past months than any of us can even begin to comprehend. And that terror – his fear - stops here and it stops now."

Monsieur Poirier turned his attention toward Philippe. "Monsieur le Comte, surely you do not agree with such action."

"I am still Raoul's wife, yes?" Christine wanted to know, her eyes never looking at Philippe.

"Yes," Philippe answered her.

"And does that not mean that I am responsible for making decisions regarding his care?" From the corner of her eye, Christine could see Philippe cross his arms over his chest.

"I believe that it does," Philippe replied.

"Monsieur le Comte," Monsieur Poirier tried again.

"You will address me!" Christine ordered, waiting until all eyes had returned to her. "I am not saying that you should stop treating my husband but just try something different, something less harsh." Christine drew a deep breath to steady the nerves no one could see. "I want my husband to recover. I want him to be here when his child is born. I want him to hold this baby in his arms." The frown returned to her face. "And if you continue to upset him, I fear that shall never happen!"

"What would you have us do, Madame?" Monsieur Saint-Preux asked.

Christine looked at Senor Gallardo and Monsieur Corhei who had pointedly remained distant from the discussion. "Do either of you have anything to say?" Christine watched as the two men exchanged a look, Monsieur Corhei clearing his throat and stepping forward. "Well?" Christine demanded rather impatiently.

"There is a new – rather - an old treatment that many physicians of my acquaintance have been using to some advantage." Monsieur Corhei drew a breath. "It is called homeopathy."

Monsieur Poirier snorted. "Herbs and flowers."

Senor Gallardo stepped to Monsieur Corhei's side. "It is something that I, too, derided when I first came here under the Vicomte's father's patronage all those long years ago. But it is something I have grown to respect. There are things in nature that hold great healing power. I have used some of them with amazing results."

"A tea made from willow bark is known to relieve pain," Monsieur Corhei told Christine, his eyes glowing with passion and knowledge. "Lavender will relieve your husband's anxiety. Foxglove – administered correctly – can increase his weakened heartbeat. Wild cherry bark will help to relieve the pain and congestion in his lungs. Wet tobacco leaves can be used to speed the healing of bruises. Marigold can be used to treat inflammation both internally and externally. And honey has been used to treat illness for centuries."

Christine studied the young man and turned to Senor Gallardo. "I know you and I trust you. You have been treating my husband since he was a babe. What is your opinion?"

Senor Gallardo did not hesitate. "I think the natural remedies should be tried for the space of two weeks." He held up his hand at the protests that seemed to be starting. "And if after that period, there is no improvement, then we can go back to the more scientific treatment methods. Or should we see a marked decline in the Vicomte's health, we will immediately return to the other treatments."

Christine nodded her head. "That is perfectly acceptable."

The two older physicians exchanged grim looks before turning to Philippe.

Philippe was having none of it. "I am deferring to my brother's wife," he told them, his tone stating that this was an end to things.

Monsieur Poirier turned back to look at Christine. "As you wish, Madame," he said in a icily polite tone. "With the understanding that the moment there is a marked decline in your husband's health, you defer to us."

Christine softened visibly. "Thank you." She turned to Philippe. "Will you explain this to Raoul and tell him I will be a few moments?" And Christine turned to Senor Gallardo, her hand reaching out to grasp – talon-like – to Meg's arm. "May I have a moment of your time?" she asked.

"But, of course," Senor Gallardo nodded.

"Are you all right?" Desiree wondered.

"I just need a moment of Senor Gallardo's time," Christine said and managed a small smile. "There is nothing wrong." Christine waited until Philippe had gone back to his brother, giving her a reassuring touch on the arm as he moved past. Christine did not meet the eyes of the other doctors as they walked back into Raoul's room but kept a tight grip on Meg's arm. She walked past Raoul's sisters and Val and into the room opposite from Raoul's. As she heard the click of the door behind Senor Gallardo, Christine finally let out a low moan and reached for her side. "God, it hurts," she breathed as she bent over.

"Help me get her to the bed!" Senor Gallardo ordered Meg as he quickly crossed to Christine's side, taking her other arm. He and Meg guided Christine to the bed and got her into a sitting position. Meg sat next to her, never letting go of Christine's hand.

"Is there the possibility that you are in early labor?" Senor Gallardo wanted to know.

The color drained completely from Christine's face. "I cannot be!" she said. "It is far too early." She turned to Meg. "It is far too early! It is just a stitch. I have been having them for months. It is just a stitch!"

Senor Gallardo turned his attention to Meg. "Would you please stay while I examine Madame?"

Meg nodded. "Of course," she replied and looked back at Christine. "I am right here and I will not leave you."

"I cannot be in labor," Christine said, frightened tears beginning to stream down her cheeks. "I cannot be."

"Why do you not let the doctor tell us what is wrong?" Meg said as she hugged Christine before drawing back. "Let me help you get comfortable."

Fifteen minutes later, Christine watched as Senor Gallardo rinsed his hands in the pitcher and basin that sat atop the dresser. She fumbled with petticoats and the silk of her gown, grateful for the arm that Meg wrapped around her shoulders.

"Well?" Christine asked, her eyes wide and frightened.

Senor Gallardo finally turned around. "You have not noticed any change in the pattern of your child's activity?"

"None," Christine assured him. "She is active for periods of time and grows quiet before becoming active again. That is normal, yes?"

Senor Gallardo walked to the bottom of the bed and smiled at the two women seated upon it. "It is perfectly normal. And you have not had any of the cramping and discomfort you experienced earlier?" Christine had told him of nearly losing her child.

"None," Christine replied. She turned to Meg for reassurance and received a small smile in return. "I am not in labor, am I?" Christine wondered, her tone worried and apprehensive.

"No," came the one word reply.

"Thank God," Meg breathed, hugging Christine warmly.

"Than what is happening to me?" Christine asked.

"You said you experience this pain in your side whenever you are under duress of some type, yes?" Christine nodded to Senor Gallardo's question. "I believe it is just your body reacting to the emotion of the moment." The old physician grinned. "And that was certainly a moment we just witnessed."

Christine swallowed back her relieved tears and just nodded.

"Is there anything she should be doing?" Meg wondered.

"I would prefer to not have any expectant mother under any kind of emotional distress," Senor Gallardo replied with a smile. "But that is a wish I do not believe any physician will ever see fulfilled." And he grew serious as he addressed Christine. "I would like you to avoid as much of the emotional distress you are currently under as possible." He held up a hand. "I know that is asking much but you must try. And I would like it if you were to set aside some time each day to just rest. I would like that time to be where you do nothing but read a book or nap and put your feet up."

"I will do as you ask," Christine nodded. "You are not going to order me from my husband's bedside?"

"I am not such a great fool!" Senor Gallardo laughed and then said gently, "I think, perhaps, you are wishing to return there, yes?"

"Yes," Christine replied and she let Meg help her to her feet and turned to look at Senor Gallardo who was holding the door open for them. "You will come back tomorrow with Monsieur Corhei?"

"I shall be here," Senor Gallardo assured her.

Christine saw anxious faces looking at her as she and Meg exited the bedroom. "I am fine," Christine assured them. "I promise. I am just tired and worried and…"

Desiree stepped forward and placed a hesitant hand on Christine's arm. "You are very brave," she said softly. "I do not think I would have ever been able to stand up to those physicians in such a manner. Thank you. Thank you for protecting my brother."

"I would give my life for your brother," Christine told her sister-in-law.

"I know," Desiree acknowledged.

"The physicians have all gone," Charlotte said and managed a small giggle. "They left grumbling amongst themselves; it was rather amusing!" She grew solemn. "Monsieur Corhei was going to wait for Senor Gallardo. I know you did the right thing, Christine."

"Thank you," Christine said and turned to see Val at his wife's side. "Would you like to see Raoul if he is awake?"

Val and Meg both nodded.

"We'll see to luncheon," Desiree said and she and Charlotte disappeared down the hallway.

Christine took her arm back from Meg and opened the door to Raoul's room. She saw Henri still sitting by Raoul's side, Philippe at Henri's elbow. She smiled as Raoul turned toward the sound of the opening door.

"Christine," Raoul breathed, reaching for her.

Christine was at his side in a moment, taking his hands, sitting down on the bed next to him.

"Thank you," Raoul said.

"You are welcome," Christine smiled back. "You know I would do anything in this world to keep you safe and make you happy."

Raoul closed his eyes and nodded.

"Do you feel up to visitors and happy news?" Christine wondered.

Raoul's eyes opened again. "Visitors?"

Christine turned toward the door and waved Val and Meg into the room, her heart beating a bit faster as she saw the look of amazement and pleasure on Raoul's face.

"We should leave," Christine heard Philippe say as he turned his attention to Henri.

"No, please," Val insisted, his hand reaching for Meg's. "I do not wish to draw you from your brother's side and what we have to say is something that must be shared."

Meg placed her hand on Christine's shoulder and smiled at Raoul, hiding her dismay at his haggard appearance. "You and Christine are not the only ones who are looking forward to welcoming a new family member," she said, reaching out to lightly touch Raoul's bandaged hand.

Raoul looked at Meg and turned his attention to Val.

"We are expecting a child of our own," Val told him.

"More babies," Raoul breathed, a smile on his face, his eyes closing, his hand reaching for his own child. "Perhaps, it will be all right."

Christine guided her husband's hand until it rested over their child's movement. She could feel as Raoul's fingers responded to each motion beneath them. "It will be all right," she said. "It has to be," she whispered.


	63. Chapter 63

**Chapter Summary:** Monique and Xavier prepare to visit Chagny. Monique still longs to spend the winter social season in Paris. Xavier gives in to her wishes while Didier gives her a warning. The police question Nico about the Saint Joseph medallion and his words turn their stomachs. Henri arrives at the police station with a request. And in Kingsand (and yes – it is Kingsand, Kings End is another place), Tallis and Serge go about meeting the local merchants, laughing and sharing lunch, unaware that they are being watched.

CHAPTER SIXTY THREE

The chateau at _Cote de Vallee_ was in as much uproar as the rest of the valley south of Lyon. The news that the young Vicomte had not been killed in the explosion and had – indeed – been found alive was all that anyone could talk about. Everyone whispered about what had happened. They speculated as to why it had happened. They sent prayers for the young man's swift recovery. The small gifts sent to the door of Chagny were received with gracious thanks but few were admitted beyond the threshold to see the young man for themselves. So they continued to wonder and speculate and hope. They speculated what the men under heavy guard in the local jail were saying and wondered if the trial would be held in their village or in the larger city of Lyon. Then they wondered if they would be able to get a seat at the trial. And they hoped that the noose was not far away for those men who had done such evil things.

"Monique, please," Xavier pleaded with his wife. "It has been nearly four days since Christine returned. Surely she and Raoul have had time to be pleasant with each other. I would like to see both of them again!"

Monique turned around on her vanity seat so that she could look at her husband. "Make pleasant with each other?" she questioned.

"I am trying to be delicate," Xavier replied. "I did not wish to say that I hope they have spent these past four days kissing and snuggling and…" He threw up his hands and plopped down on the end of his wife's bed. "We have not seen Raoul in over a week. I would like to see how he is progressing." He turned his head slightly. "And do not tell me that you do not wish to see just how far along Christine is."

Monique watched the sharp look that crossed her husband's face and lowered her eyes and studied the brush in her hands. "I do wish to see Christine and I am curious," she admitted. "I just thought we should let them have some time alone as family. It was hard enough for us to see Raoul in that condition; I cannot even imagine what it must have been like for his wife." Her eyes held a strange sparkle as she raised them. "I do not know what my reaction would be were I to find you in such a sad condition."

"I would hope that your compassion would rise to the fore as it has always done," Xavier told her. "I would hope that whatever transgressions that lay between us would be forgiven and forgotten."

"It would," Monique assured him with a sigh. "I could never leave your side were you to be in fear of your life or in trouble of any sort. We have built a comfortable life together. I do not wish to think upon what a day would be like without you."

Now it was Xavier's turn to sigh and he ran a hand through his graying hair. "That is comforting," he told her. "I know that things have not been easy these last years – that I have not been easy these last years. To know that you still hold some small spark of affection for me, it is truly comforting and helps to settle my unease."

Monique smiled at her husband before turning back to her vanity mirrors. She looked at him in those mirrors. "You know I would do anything to make you comfortable," she replied, a smile momentarily crossing her face.

Xavier smiled back. "I know," he said softly. "I would do the same for you."

Whatever Monique may have said was interrupted by a gentle knock on the closed door. "Come," Monique called out and a genuine smile lit her face as Didier entered the room. He had been looking so much better since Raoul had been found. "To what do I owe this pleasure?" Monique wondered as she waved her young cousin in, watching in her mirror as he went to sit beside Xavier. "I positively feel like a courtesan with two such handsome men sitting on the edge of my bed."

Didier blushed and lowered his head while Xavier merely laughed. Monique continued to watch their reflections in her mirrors.

"You need to get out more," Xavier told his cousin. "You need to find a suitable young woman and settle down. That will chase the blush right from your cheeks."

"Please," Didier asked softly, his eyes remaining lowered.

Monique shook her head at both of them. "You both need to get out more," she insisted and paused for a moment, pinning up a stray curl. She watched, as they both looked at her back and her own reflection smiled at them. "I think we should still go to Paris for the season," she stated.

"Surely you cannot mean such a thing!" Xavier blurted out. "Not now! Philippe will need us near."

"Philippe has a house full of family and more are expected as the holidays approach," Monique stated. "You know that Desiree and Charlotte's families are coming in six weeks. Do you truly think Philippe will need anymore company? Do you think Raoul will want to be overwhelmed by outsiders?"

"I thought we were like family to them," Xavier wondered.

"We are like family, yes," Monique replied, "but we are not true family." She finally turned to face husband and cousin, gesturing elegantly at them. "This is my family. You are the ones I hold in my heart and the thought of spending the winter in Paris with you both makes me feel slightly intoxicated! It has been many years since I have been caught up in the bright lights and heady atmosphere of a season in Paris. I would like to enjoy the symphony and the opera. I would like to eat in the finest restaurants and dance the nights away. I would like to visit the salons of old friends and throw open our own home to them." A stern look briefly crossed her face. "I am determined to get as far from this place as possible and enjoy myself." And the look was gone, replaced by a bright smile. "And I cannot picture myself in all this whirlwind without my two most favorite men by my side."

Monique watched as Xavier rose to his feet and crossed to her side, taking her hands in his own and raising each one in turn to his lips.

"If that is what your heart desires, then so be it," Xavier said, a twinkle in his eye. "But do not think I shall not try to talk you out of such action."

"You do not have much time to try," Monique told him as she allowed Xavier to help her to her feet. "If we are to leave for Paris, we must do so by the first of December." She accepted the kiss that her husband placed on her cheek.

"I shall go and make sure that everything is ready." Xavier glanced at his pocket watch. "Philippe will be expecting us within the hour." He turned to look at Didier who remained seated on the edge of the bed. "Do come along," Xavier told the young man before leaving his wife's bedroom, the sound of his footfalls echoing down the long upstairs hallway.

"Didier," Monique said and watched as the young man slowly rose to his feet. "I would think you would be a bit happier," she admonished him. "Your best friend has redeemed himself in the eyes of his family. They have discovered that their beloved brother and husband and cousin was not murdered. It is a time of rejoicing not sorrow."

Didier finally raised his head. "I am trying and I promise I shall be all smiles by the time we reach Chagny."

"I should certainly hope so!" Monique exclaimed and was surprised when Didier crossed to her side, gripping her arm and leaning in so that he could whisper in her ear.

"Never forget the small child that is ignored," he whispered, "the small child who sees and hears everything. The child who knows more than adults think he does." Didier drew back so that he could stare into his cousin's eyes. "I know what you are doing," he stated simply with a shake of his head, "and it will not work."

Things were also not working according to plan at the heavily guarded jail in Chagny. The men who had been responsible for the events surrounding the Vicomte were being less than cooperative with the inspectors who questioned them nearly every day. They offered vague answers and little details, admitting to nothing. Not one of the three men – two at Chagny, one having been moved from Grenoble to Lyon – would say whose idea it was to take the Vicomte and murder their compatriot in his place. They would not tell where the money was located. They would not say what they planned to do with the Vicomte. They would not turn on each other and – most importantly – not one of them would say who was behind the failed scheme.

"I know there is someone beyond these men who laid this plot out," Chief Inspector Robert Pichette said to his young associate. "Even Louis Foucault is not smart enough to lay out such a detailed scheme." He shook his head grimly. "No, there was another involved of that I am certain. I just wish I knew how to get one of them to tell us what it is they know."

Inspector Guy Rousseau opened his closed hand and laid something on the desk in the tiny office.

"What is that?" Pichette wondered.

"It was found hidden in a box in the cart that Mircea used to transport the Vicomte from Grenoble," Rousseau answered. "The local officers found it when they dismantled the cart looking for information." A hand went out to lightly touch the shining object on the desk. "It is a Saint Joseph medallion."

Pichette picked it up. "Curious," he said, as he examined the object he held in his hands. "It is very finely crafted and that means it did not come cheaply. It is not something that a scoundrel like Nico Mircea would be able to come by honestly." He raised his eyes to look at Inspector Rousseau. "You have heard that the Vicomtess has returned to Chagny."

"I have, Sir," Rousseau replied.

"And you do know who Saint Joseph is?"

A slight smile passed Rousseau's face. "I have not forgotten my catechism. He is the patron saint of fathers. And the word from Chagny is that the Vicomtess is with child." He nodded toward the medallion. "You think this was something that she purchased for her husband before he was taken?"

Pichette nodded. "I do. It is the type of sentimental gesture that a woman would offer to the father of her child."

"But how do we know that the Vicomte did not have it with him when he was taken?"

"Because when I had a private interview with the Comte and the Vicomtess, they were gracious enough to tell us what personal items the Vicomte had been wearing the morning he was taken. During that interview, the Vicomtess would not meet my eyes but I did notice that her hands kept reaching for her abdomen but would never quite make it that far. Such action told me that she had not yet shared her news with the family about her."

Rousseau looked puzzled. "I do not understand how you reached such a conclusion."

Pichette's lips turned up in a rueful smile. "You are not yet married or a father," he said simply. "I have had the experience of receiving news that I was to be a father four times. It is something to be marveled at each time but it is also something that – after the first time – you begin to see in other women." He shook his head. "No, I highly doubt that the Vicomte had yet received his wife's happy news or this gift." Pichette closed his hand about the medallion. "And that means that Mircea had to have gotten it by ill means." He grew grim. "Shall we try discovering what those means were?"

Rousseau opened the door to the tiny office and stood back in deference to his mentor. "I do now know what good it shall do," he said. "That man should be in an asylum and not a jail cell."

Pichette turned to the young inspector. "He should be hung for what he has done but that will not happen." He let out a long sigh. "No, the man is clearly insane and will, therefore, be sent to asylum and not the gallows."

"I meant no disrespect!" Rousseau looked worried. "I only meant that he is dangerous and is better kept under the lock and key of an asylum."

Pichette laid a hand on the man's arm. "I know what you meant," he assured Inspector Rousseau. "And you may always say as you wish around me but I must caution you to watch your words around the victims of such heinous deeds. And it does not matter whether the victim is a simple man in the street or the product of an old and powerful family – pain is still pain."

"Yes sir," Rousseau replied.

"Good," Pichette said with a curt nod. "We shall discuss it no further. Now, let us go and see what – if anything – we can discover from Mircea."

The two inspectors from Lyon left the tiny office, walking toward the back of the building that housed Chagny's jail. It was not a very large building – two stories and four cells behind a locked door off the main room. The building itself had been constructed of the heavy stones that had been moved during the clearing of the land surrounding the village. It had grown from the original one story to the second story when more land needed to be cleared as more and more people came to the valley seeking its peace and serenity. Yet even the quiet of the countryside was interrupted by the occasional crime. The cells had seen their share of thieves and drunks but never such men as the murders and extortionists that now occupied a cell on either side of the room that housed all four jail cells.

Pichette nodded at the man who stood guard before the locked door leading to the cells; he knew the man from Lyon and knew he could be trusted. Pichette had ordered several men from his own force to bolster the few officers in Chagny; he was taking no chances. He walked through the door the man opened, trusting Inspector Rousseau to follow and waited until he heard the door lock behind him, before observing the cool back room that housed the jail cells.

He saw the two armed officers sitting at each end of the small space that separated the two walls of cells – each man a trusted officer also brought from Lyon. Pichette could hear nothing from the two men he knew were behind the closed and locked doors of the cells and shook his head. He had had their wounds treated for he had no wish for them to die before their appointed time. Pichette had placed them in cells that were catty-cornered from each other so that the two men would be not able to easily communicate with each other. And communicate, they had not – not with each other and certainly not with those who questioned them. Pichette was determined to put a stop to that. He walked to the cell closest to the door, standing before it, feeling Inspector Rousseau at his side.

"Mircea," he addressed the man lounging on the hard wooden plank that passed for a bed, observing that the prisoner carefully cradled his wounded arm and shoulder.

"Hello," Nico addressed them.

Pichette let the chain on which the medallion hung slip easily from his fingers. "How did you come by this?" The look that crossed Nico's face sent a shiver up Pichette's spine but he would never show such a thing before a prisoner.

"It was a gift for my toy," Nico said, an empty smile on his face. "I just wanted to give it to him."

"How did you come by this?" Pichette tried again.

Nico tilted his head to one side and his voice took on that strange sing-song quality. "Do you not think my toy had a right to know about his little baby?" His eyes were wide and as empty as his smile. "I was going to find his baby and bring it to him so that they could be together forever and ever." Nico frowned. "But that stupid man interfered before I could find the baby and the pretty lady."

Rousseau swallowed. "You mean Henri de Chagny?"

Nico sat upright. "Stupid, stupid man," he hissed.

"How did you come by this?" Pichette asked for a third time.

The eerie smile returned to Nico's face. "I was waiting for the pretty lady in the cemetery," he began softly. "And she came and put the pretty necklace on the door." He slowly rose to his feet. "She was so sad and I just wanted to hug her." Nico inhaled the stale air of the jail cell. "She smelled like lilies." His eyes opened, a dreamy look in them. "She was so soft," he breathed.

Pichette and Rousseau looked at each other from the corners of their eyes; this was something they had not expected. "Did you assault the Vicomtess?" Pichette demanded, his tone stern.

"No, no, no," Nico replied as he took a step forward. "The pretty lady was going to be my new toy. My old toy was getting worn out and I was going to throw him and the baby away. Then the pretty lady and I could play lots of new games."

"Nico," Louis' voice could be heard coming from the cell near the back wall, "you are such a sick bastard."

"I think we have what we came for," Pichette nodded to Rousseau and the two men turned toward the locked door that led out. Pichette knocked on it once and it slowly opened. He did not see Nico rush to the bars of his cell, grabbing on to them and shaking them furiously.

"Tell my toys I will find them," he called out. "Tell them I will find all of them and put them away! Tell them! Tell them!"

Nico's words echoed as the door was closed.

"That was disturbing," Inspector Rousseau said.

What Chief Inspector Pichette may or may not have said was interrupted by the main door the jail opening and an obviously nervous Henri de Chagny walking in.

Pichette crossed the room to greet Henri. "Monsieur de Chagny," he greeted Henri. "What may I do for you? Is there anything wrong?"

"No," Henri insisted. "Everything is fine. My cousin is improving daily."

Pichette kept his silence and watched as Henri drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. He observed the fear and uncertainty in the young man's eyes and fought down the urge to shake Henri. Obviously this young man knew something or – at least – thought he did.

"May we speak?" Henri asked, his voice lowering. "Privately, please?"

"I shall write my report on what we know," Inspector Rousseau said and walked away.

Pichette nodded at his young colleague and waved Henri toward the stairs that led to the offices on the second floor. "Shall we?" he wondered politely.

Henri swallowed. "Yes, please."

And in the far southeast corner of England, an entirely different conversation was taking place. This conversation held no chilling words, no nervous uncertainty and no great importance. It was a simple conversation held between two people as they meandered in and out of the shops along the main road of the town of Kingsand. It continued as they walked slowly up one side of the street that wound up the hillside. Their softly spoken words continued, as they would pause to gaze out over the blue Atlantic, the ocean waves pounding on the rocky coastline. Their words turned to laughter when particularly strong autumn breezes blew in off the ocean, messing his hair and causing her to reach for her hat. They continued to speak as they reached the top of the road and began to walk down the other side. They still visited each and every shop, greeting the proprietor, making themselves known, holding polite conversation. Finally as they reached the bottom of the hill, Serge turned to Tallis.

"That has been a very busy morning, Fraulein," Serge stated and laughed as he reached for his waving hair in the breeze. "I do not know about you but I find myself famished. Would you care to share a meal with me?"

Tallis smiled brightly. "I should like that!" She laughed. "I do not know which is worse – my brain from trying to remember all the names of the merchants or my hunger pangs from the long morning."

Serge smiled back. "Ah, but what about your feet?" He wondered. "I have walked you all the way from Trevinny and I have walked you all over this charming town. Do your feet not hurt?"

Tallis frowned playfully at him. "I told you once before that I am a country girl; I can out-walk even a small child." She smiled and her gaze grew distant. "I used to take my nieces and nephews for long walks and they would tire before I did. More often than not, I would find myself carrying the youngest child home in my arms."

"Would that I were that child!" Serge declared.

Tallis just laughed and rolled her eyes. "You are far too big to carry!"

Serge held out his arm. "But not too big that you will not allow me to escort you to luncheon, yes?"

"No," Tallis told him sweetly and slipped her arm through his. "Certainly not too big."

They walked in silence for a moment before Serge stopped.

Tallis looked up at him in curiosity. "What?"

"I am such a bore," he said with a laugh and turned to look at his companion. "I have not even asked where you would like to have lunch." He looked back up the winding hill. "There are many places, to be sure."

"Oh, not back up the hill!" Tallis declared.

Serge laughed delightedly. "Perhaps your feet are not as strong as you claim them to be!"

Tallis blushed and lowered her eyes. "I am getting old."

"Never," Serge replied gently as he placed a finger under her chin and lifted her head. "And I have an idea." He grinned at Tallis. "I am quite interested in this Ploughman's Lunch about which I keep hearing." He looked about him, the clear sky, the still warm sun. "Would you like have lunch at the park near the sea? I do not think we will have many more days to do such a thing."

Tallis brightened. "I would love to do so!" She sparkled. "And you will love the Ploughman's Lunch! I remember having it when I was a child and visiting my cousins. We would get money from our parents and come to town, buy our lunches and go to that very park to eat them!"

Serge patted the hand that held to his arm. "Then that is, most assuredly, what we shall do!"

Serge and Tallis walked arm-in-arm to the small shop at the bottom of the street. The old man greeted Tallis warmly once his memory had been prompted. He told Serge of the child that Tallis had been while fixing their noonday meal, wrapping the food in parchment paper that he tied with plain string. Tallis told the man that she was now the housekeeper at Trevinny and promised to visit his shop often. Her words brought a smile to the man's face and he happily waved the young people off to enjoy their food

Ninety minutes later, Serge was finishing the last bite of his apple and smiling at the ocean that stretched out before him. He sighed and placed the apple core in the parchment and wrapped the remains of his lunch into a small bundle before turning to Tallis. "That was most excellent!" he stated. "I do not think I have ever had anything so simple that tasted so wonderful!"

"I am that pleased," Tallis assured Serge, her smile as bright as his own. She turned to look at the Atlantic. "I had forgotten how pleasant this can be."

"I am glad to see you that you think upon pleasantries," Serge said softly, his hand going over the one that Tallis rested upon the bench on which they sat.

"I am certainly trying," Tallis said and turned to look at Serge. "And you?"

"I am certainly trying."

Tallis laughed gently.

Serge pulled the watch from his vest pocket and placed it back. "It is getting late," he stated. "We should be going back if we do not wish to walk across the moors as the sun is setting." He rose to his feet and held out his hands to Tallis, surprised when she hugged him.

"Thank you for a lovely day," Tallis said softly. "Thank you for trusting me with your household."

After his initial shock, Serge returned the hug. "You are very welcome, Fraulein. Yet I believe it is I who should be thanking you." He drew back from the hug. "Thank you for letting me escort you to this place. Thank you for introducing me to this lovely world of your youth." He lowered his voice. "And thank you for being a friend."

The blush once again crept up Tallis' cheeks. "You are very welcome."

Serge picked up the remains of their lunch with one hand and held out his other arm to Tallis. "Shall we?"

Tallis nodded, sighed and smiled as she allowed Serge to walk her through the small park, back toward town and then to Trevinny.

Yet so wrapped up in the enjoyment of the day were Tallis and Serge that they did not notice the shape that followed them through the shadows. They did not heed the man who had dogged their every step, sharp ears picking up the words that the winds did not blow away. They had not seen him follow them to the park by the ocean. They did not see him hiding in the darkness, his fists clenching and unclenching, his eyes glowing dangerously. They did not see him sag against a sturdy tree as they embraced before walking toward town.

"What have I done?" Erik cried softly. "Dear God, Tallis, what have I done?"


	64. Chapter 64

**Chapter Summary:** Erik covertly seeks information about Tallis in a crowded inn. Life continues to bloom again at Chagny. The police arrive to speak with Raoul and Christine, the medallion they bring with them causing a reaction Christine does not expect. Henri and Didier find that they each hold the same piece of the puzzle, even though Didier keeps his shaded. And Erik goes to Tallis.

CHAPTER SIXTY FOUR

Erik paced nervously back and forth across the small room he had taken in an inn not far from the outskirts of Kingsand. It was a small country inn with but a few rooms to let. Most of the inn's income was generated from the bar that took up nearly the entire expanse of the ground floor. The rooms above the boisterous ground floor were meant for the occasional traveler who could not quite find the strength to make it those last few miles into Kingsand where more comfortable accommodations could be found. Yet Erik did not care about comfortable accommodations. He did not hear the chatter of patrons and the clanking of mugs that rose up from below. He took little note of the slightly worn yet still sturdy furniture about him. All Erik could see was the woman he loved in the arms of another man. He ground his teeth together as he remembered the smiles and the laughter that Tallis had shared with Serge - the smiles and the laughter that should have been his.

Erik had followed her to England, the familiar train trip ending in Boulogne before he boarded the ferry to Portsmouth. While waiting for the ferry Erik's gaze had strayed toward the cliffs and the sandy beaches to the south and he offered up a simple thought that Christine was once again happy with her Vicomte. Then he had boarded the ferry, standing in the shadows, watching as the Channel waters parted before the bow of the boat. He had eventually closed his eyes, unable to stand the rolling, unsteady motion of the waves that matched the unsteady, rolling emotions that lapped over his being. Erik had taken a moment to do what everyone about him had always done – pray to some unseen omnipresent being. He was not entirely sure he would be heard but he did have to try. Erik struggled for the right words. He struggled to say what was in his heart. He struggled to be just like everyone about him.

"_Just let her still love me,"_ he had finally thought in silence. _"Just let her still love me."_

No one in the simple inn heard the sound of Erik's fist hitting the wall as his anger and frustration overwhelmed his better intentions. No one would have cared.

"No one cares," Erik sighed to himself as he cradled aching knuckles, a strange look coming over his face. "And," he thought out loud, "perhaps that is just what I require." Erik paused briefly to check the bills and coins in his pocket before sweeping out of his room and down the stairs to the barroom below.

He made his way politely through the crowd as he headed toward the long bar that was centered in the middle of the room. Erik carried himself with an ease he did not feel and was amazed at how people moved out of his way. His thoughts were turned inward, lost in gray eyes and silvery laughter, so Erik was unaware of the presence he still commanded by just walking through a room. So lost was Erik in his own thoughts and emotions that he did not even realize that no one gave a second look to his unmasked visage. He was finally being treated as just another human being in a crowded bar and he was completely unaware of it.

Erik found an open space at the long bar. "Whatever you recommend," he said as the older woman behind the bar turned her attention to him. The years had not been gentle to her and she wore her age like a shield against any that would dare to challenge her. Yet the woman blushed when confronted by the hypnotic depths of Erik's golden eyes and his softly accented voice. He accepted the flagon of ale with a nod, raising it to his lips and smiling at the woman as he lowered it. "Thank you," Erik said. "That is very nice."

The woman looked around at the bar, assessing the situation and wiped her hands on her apron.

Erik laid down several coins. "Whatever you would like," he said softly.

The woman returned his words with a smile and retrieved a small glass of clear liquid. "Thank you sir," she said as she took a sip. "My name is Glynnis. And you would be… ?" she encouraged.

"Erik," he replied and took another sip of the warm ale. "You have lived here all your life?"

"Aye," Glynnis replied. "I was born here and wed here and my bones shall be buried in the local cemetery alongside all those that have gone before me. It is the way of things here."

"_Perfect,"_ Erik thought and then out loud, "I am seeking a quiet place to compose my music and I was wondering if you knew of any estates that might be for let."

Glynnis pursed her lips. "There was one but it recently was let by a German lad." She shook her head. "I cannot think of another."

"If it was just recently," Erik began, "then perhaps he is not yet enamoured of the home and would be willing to consider different options."

"I do not think he will," Glynnis replied with a shake of her head. "He has hired the cousin of some local folks to be his housekeeper." She took another sip from her glass, letting out a sharp breath as the strong alcohol burned down her throat. "I do not think he is planning on leaving for some time."

The man next to Erik raised his head from studying the depths of his mug. "I heard that young German made an offer to buy Trevinny."

Erik allowed a puzzled look to cross his face, hiding his growing displeasure at what he was hearing. "He means to buy this place?"

"That is what is being said," the man replied and downed what remained of his ale. "If you are looking for a quiet house, you may want to start looking in other places." He placed some coins in the bar. "I need to be getting home before the wife raises a ruckus." He turned and left, leaving Erik and Glynnis alone once again.

"I do believe he is correct," Erik sighed. "I shall need to begin looking for a different place."

"You said you write music?" Glynnis wondered and Erik nodded. "What kind of music?"

"I write whatever it is that the people who pay me desire," Erik smiled back. "It pays well enough." He sighed. "But now I shall need to be moving on, looking for a new home, someone to take care of it for me." Erik paused in thought. "You do not know if this housekeeper for this German lad has any other relatives that might be interested in a position?" he asked hopefully.

"Might be," Glynnis nodded, "might be. That is a good-sized brood that Daniel and Maeve have. I am sure there are a couple of girls who would be glad of a position like their cousin Tallis got herself."

"Tallis?" Erik asked, hoping his voice sounded even and dispassionate. "Is that the name of the housekeeper at … at …"

"Trevinny," Glynnis finished for him. "Yes, that is her. Tallis Ordogne, that is her name. I knew her when she was a little thing and came to visit her cousins. She reminded me of a young foal - all long legs, piss and vinegar." Glynnis realized what she had said and turned bright red. "Begging your pardon, sir."

"How appropriately descriptive," Erik muttered into the mug he held to his lips before placing it down. "No need to apologize," he assured Glynnis. "I have heard worse terms used to describe members of your sex. I find what you said very complimentary for I believe it describes a no-nonsense woman."

Glynnis interrupted Erik. "That is exactly what I meant to say; she is no-nonsense. The whole family is like that."

"Than I must assuredly seek out this Tallis Ordogne and crave from her an introduction to the other members of her family." Erik once again turned his charm on to Glynnis. "Would it be possible for you to give me directions to Trevinny?" he asked with a seductive smile. "I should like to make this lady's acquaintance as soon as possible." Erik raised an eyebrow and leaned over the bar toward Glynnis, pulling her into his seduction. "Perhaps, even on the morrow."

The next morning dawned bright and sunny in both England and France. As with each new day, God's grace was renewed, chasing away the sins of the past, giving each and every person the chance to begin again. But men and women are not God and there are times when the sins of the past are not so easily forgiven and forgotten. And the colder undercurrents of the blowing winds bespoke of winter and the chill that hovered just beyond the horizon. It was a chill that would creep through crevices into the foundations of buildings and through the cracks into the foundations of lives.

Yet as Philippe found himself enjoying late morning coffee with friends and family, he was barely aware of the chill that hovered just outside the warm comfort in which he found himself. He took a moment to acknowledge that Henri was not one of the people gathered in the bright dining room. Nor was Didier. Philippe knew they were together and he hoped that whatever it was that was bothering the young men was something they could confide to each other, finding comfort in their friendship. Philippe raised his eyes to the ceiling, thinking about the two other missing people and knowing that they were well as they sat together, hands clasped, voices low.

"Pardon?" Philippe said as he lowered his eyes, thinking that someone had been trying to catch his attention.

"We were all wondering if you wanted to have everyone at Chagny for the holidays," Desiree said as she looked at her eldest brother. "Honestly, Philippe, you are so distracted!"

"Do go easy on him," Xavier interjected. "It has been a wondrous three weeks." He smiled at his friend. "I think Philippe is allowed to be distracted."

"Thank you," Philippe smiled back and turned his attention to his sister who was blushing. "You are still so passionate," he said so that only Desiree could hear his words. "I do not think you will ever change." He smiled at her. "Please do not."

"I promise," Desiree whispered back.

"But that still does not answer what you wish to do about the holidays," Charlotte interjected. "I know that Raoul has been feeling much better over these last days but he still has a very long way to go. Do you really think a house full of chattering people is something he needs?"

"I think it is," Philippe told her as he looked at Val and Meg. "He has been very happy to see you both. How long can you stay?

Val looked at Meg before answering. "We can stay until the start of December but no later. My mother is coming to Paris for the holidays and she shall expect us there." He reached out and gently squeezed his wife's hand. "And we have yet to tell her she is to be a grandmother." Val returned his attention to Philippe. "Is that overstaying our welcome?"

"No," Philippe told him with a smile. "I am ready to welcome an army of friends and family." He turned to look at Arthur who was standing by the windows. "I do not know how my staff feels about that."

Arthur turned around, a grin on his face. "I think your staff can manage quite well, thank you."

"I do not doubt it."

Monique put down her coffee cup and folded her hands peacefully in her lap. "Are you expecting us to be here, as well?"

Philippe was rather shocked and his tone of voice expressed it. "How can you even ask?"

"My wife is wishing to spend the winter in Paris," Xavier said. "She is very enamoured with the idea of a glittering social season." He grinned at Philippe. "This is your fault, you realize."

Charlotte looked a bit puzzled. "Why is this Philippe's fault?"

Philippe rubbed a single finger across his forehead. "Because before …" he drew a deep breath to steady the rush of emotions that always seemed to want to sweep him away. "Before Raoul was found, I had determined to spend the season in Paris searching for a wife."

The stunned silence in the room was broken by Desiree's outburst. "What?"

"Surely you cannot be serious!" Charlotte added.

Philippe could not meet the amazed and stunned looks coming from his sisters. He heard as Xavier began to laugh, followed by the sound of Arthur's laughter and he could not help the merriment that bubbled up from his own throat. As the three men broke down into laughter, Val and Meg exchanged wondering looks and Monique frowned as Desiree and Charlotte turned toward her.

"Do not look to me," Monique said. "I cannot fathom the workings of the male mind."

Charlotte turned back to Philippe. "Do try to be serious," she started.

"But you are serious enough for all of us," Philippe managed as he fought to get his laughter under control.

Charlotte frowned at him and began to rise to her feet. "Philippe," she warned.

Philippe drew several deep breaths and could not look at Xavier and Arthur for fear he would once again succumb to the very same laughter with which his friends still struggled. "Do not take offense, Charlotte, please" he pleaded. "I know I am behaving like a child but I cannot help it. I am so … so… " Philippe thought for a moment, trying to put what he was feeling into words and failing. "I cannot say how I am because I do not know. I have been at a loss to describe how I was feeling over these last months and – once again – I am at a loss." He smiled at his sisters. "I only know that I am so happy that there are times it cannot be contained."

Charlotte sat back down. "I understand perfectly," she replied.

Philippe turned his attention to Monique. "Surely you cannot mean to go to Paris now? At least stay through January! That shall allow you to spend the holidays with us and still have enough time to enjoy the season in Paris."

Xavier turned to his wife. "A brilliant idea! What do you think?"

Monique was silent as all eyes looked upon her. Slowly a happy little smile curled the edges of her lips. "Agreed."

Xavier raised his cup to his wife. "Thank you," he mouthed.

A soft knock upon the closed dining room doors drew everyone's attention.

"Come," Philippe called out, watching as the valet who usually waited upon the front door entered the room.

"Pardon the intrusion, Monsieur le Comte," the man began, "but the inspectors are here and they wish to speak with the Vicomte."

Philippe rose to his feet, dropping his napkin on the table. "I should see to this," he said and smiled. "Please, do not stop the party on my account."

Philippe followed the man out of the room, trusting the valet to close the dining room doors. He walked down the main hallway to find Chief Inspector Pichette and Inspector Rousseau waiting patiently by the front doors. Philippe shook their extended hands. "I understand you wish to see my brother," he stated.

"We have received some information from one of the men who took your brother," Chief Inspector Pichette began. "And it appears they may have accosted the Vicomtess, as well."

"Christine?" A look of worry crossed Philippe's face to be quickly replaced by one of anger. "I will kill them, personally."

"That is something about which you need not worry," Inspector Rousseau told Philippe. "They will be punished for what they have done."

"Good," Philippe muttered and pulled himself together. "I will take you upstairs but I cannot guarantee that my brother shall be awake. And if he is awake, I should let you know that he tires very easily so you may not have long to question him."

"We will do nothing to unnecessarily distress him any further," Pichette promised.

Philippe held his hand out toward the grand staircase. "Then, gentlemen, shall we?"

Philippe led the way up the staircase, the two inspectors following behind. He moved easily down the upstairs hallway, stopping before a closed door and knocking. A female voice called out from behind the door. "One moment, please." And then the door was opening to reveal an obviously pregnant woman dressed in dark blue, her long curls pulled back and held in place by a matching ribbon. The smile on her face grew at the sight of Philippe.

"Christine," Philippe said as he reached in to kiss her cheek before drawing back. "The police are here; they wish to speak with Raoul. Is he awake?" Philippe watched as Christine finally turned her attention to the two men standing behind him, a stern look crossing her face as she left the room, closing the door behind her. Philippe turned to the two inspectors. "Gentlemen, my sister, the Vicomtess de Chagny," he said and turned back to Christine. "Christine, I believe you know Chief Inspector Robert Pichette and Inspector Guy Rousseau."

Christine nodded at the two inspectors as they bowed in her direction. "I do remember you, hello," she said and nodded. "You wish to speak with my husband?"

"If he is awake," Pichette said. "We will only take a few moments of his time and we promise not to distress him unnecessarily."

"He is awake." Christine studied their faces. "I will allow you in to speak with him but you must understand that the moment I find my husband is becoming distressed or overwhelmed, you will leave without question. Is that quite clear?"

Pichette looked at Rousseau. "Perfectly, Madame," Rousseau said. "We shall follow your lead."

"Gentlemen, I leave you in capable hands," Philippe said and turned to Christine. "I shall leave you and you may tell me later."

Christine nodded and accepted the kiss that Philippe placed on her cheek. She waited until he had moved off down the hall before turning around to open the bedroom door, motioning the two inspectors in. "Raoul," she said softly as she approached the bed, smiling broadly as Raoul turned to look at her. "There are two police inspectors here who would like to speak with you."

Raoul was seated upright in bed for the first time since he had come home. Several pillows supported his back helping him to remain upright. The blankets were still pulled down around the bandages over his injured leg. Yet his color had gone from a sickly gray to a very pale pink. Even a small spark of life could be seen in his blue eyes. Those eyes closed momentarily as Raoul drew a deep breath. "Only a few minutes," he said, his voice improving but still raspy. Raoul opened his eyes again. "I do not know how much …"

Christine was at his side, sitting on the bed, taking his hands in her own. "They have promised to leave when I ask." She smiled softly as Raoul took back one of his hands to rest it over their child. "I will not let them upset you." Raoul nodded and Christine turned to the inspectors waiting by the closed door, motioning them over. "Gentlemen," she told them, watching as they approached. Christine was immediately impressed by the stoic demeanor they maintained when they finally had a chance to see the man upon whose life they had spent the last five months. She was grateful that they betrayed no emotion at the sight that had nearly brought her to her knees.

"Monsieur le Vicomte," Pichette began, "I am Chief Inspector Robert Pichette of the Lyon police force." He nodded to Rousseau. "This is my lead inspector, Guy Rousseau."

Raoul nodded.

"We want you to know that the men who did this to you are now under heavy guard and they will pay for what they have done," Pichette said and held out his hand, Rousseau slipping something into it. "When the cart in which you were…"

"Oh God," Raoul breathed, some of the color draining from his face.

Christine glared up at Pichette.

"When we examined the cart," Pichette began again, "an item was found stuck in a corner. We believe it belongs to you."

Christine held out her hand and Pichette slipped the medallion into it. "Oh dear God," Christine said, raising her eyes to look at the inspectors. "They had this?"

"That was how they told me about the baby," Raoul said to Christine before turning his head slightly so that he could look at the inspectors. "They... they used it to torment me. They said I would never see my child. They said that…" Raoul's chin trembled and he lowered his eyes. "They said a great many hurtful things."

"I was going to use it to tell you about the baby," Christine told Raoul, a cry in her voice.

"When was the last time you saw this, Madame?" Pichette asked gently.

Christine studied the silver object she held in her hand. "It was the morning that I left to return to Paris. I placed it on the door to…" Christine heard the intake of breath from her husband. "I left it with my husband," she finished.

"Did anything else happen that morning?" Rousseau wanted to know.

Christine nodded. "Raoul," she said softly and waited until Raoul had opened his eyes. "I was going to tell you this when you were stronger. I am not keeping things from you but I do not want you to be distressed. I want you to continue to get well. I want our baby to truly know what it is like to be held by her father. I do not want it to be a story I tell her."

"I know, Christine, I know." Raoul shook his head. "He said that… He knew you smelled like lilies. He said you were in his arms."

Deep pain crossed Christine's face. "How could you even think something like that? Why would you believe them? I love you!" Christine composed herself and raised her eyes to look at the inspectors. "I was leaving the cemetery when I heard someone speak my name. I turned to find a man with a mask over his face. I was going to scream when someone grabbed me from behind. I never saw his face but I did see the gun he placed against my cheek. They told me they had a message from my husband. I did not believe them" She turned back to look at Raoul who would not meet her eyes. "But they mentioned Perros and I knew that the message came from you. They said he told them to tell me that he loved me. That he would always love me." Christine turned back to the inspectors. "I am afraid I yelled and screamed at them. Then the one who was behind me placed the gun in the small of my back and I was ordered to leave. I could not take any chances with my child's life and I left. I was back in Paris two days later."

"I am truly sorry that a gift meant to express joy was twisted to cause pain," Pichette said softly. "And you both have verified what we were told by the men who did this." He looked at Rousseau and nodded. "I believe we shall take our leave for the moment. We may need to return for further questions."

"Thank you," Raoul breathed.

"Do you need this back?" Christine wondered as she looked at the medallion she held.

"We may need it at the trial," Rousseau told her.

"I do not want it," Raoul whispered angrily.

Christine stared at him, her fingers wrapping tightly about the medallion. "I shall get it blessed and should you need it, please let us know."

"We shall see ourselves out," Pichette said and nodded toward the door.

The two inspectors left, leaving a couple on the bed, the chill of winter creeping in through the cracked foundation of a marriage.

"You do not want this?" Christine asked softly once the door was closed behind the inspectors.

"I never want to see it again!" Raoul insisted.

"But Raoul …"

"I said I never want to see it again!" Raoul nearly shouted, the effort causing him to cough.

Christine reached out for him and was shocked and hurt when Raoul waved her off.

"I am tired," Raoul finally managed to say. "I am going to sleep for awhile."

"I will stay with you," Christine tried.

"Alone, Christine," Raoul said and turned his head from her. "Just… leave me alone."

"But…" Christine tried.

"Please!"

Christine got to her feet. "As you wish," she said, trying desperately not to cry. "I will go and spend some time with Meg and Val."

There was no answer and Christine stood silently for a moment, watching Raoul's still form before leaving the room. She gave one last look at her husband before closing the door and walking across the hall into her own room. Christine made her way to sit on the edge of the bed, reaching for a pillow. She placed it over her face and sobbed into it, knowing that no one could hear her.

No one could hear Henri and Didier, either, as they sat in the back of the conservatory, hidden behind a large potted palm, their voices low and hushed.

"Is that what you told them?" Didier asked in amazement.

Henri nodded. "What choice did I have?" he wondered. "I cannot allow anything further to happen to Raoul." He laughed bitterly as he ran a hand through his hair. "Blame it on my selfishness at not wanting the responsibility. Blame it on my insanity. Blame it …"

"Do not say that word!" Didier hissed angrily as he grabbed at Henri's hand, shaking it violently. "You have no idea of true insanity! You have no idea of what it is capable of doing! You have no idea!"

Henri was still in the face of his friend's outburst. "You do know," he finally said, the knowledge dawning on his face. "God, you do know!" The knowledge was quickly replaced by a pained resignation. "I was right," Henri whispered. "I was right, was I not?"

Didier shook his head. "Please, do not ask me that question! So many lives hang on what I may answer."

"My cousin's life hangs on your answer!" Henri replied. "So do the lives of his wife and child! An innocent child, Didier! A child who has not yet been born!"

"Do you think I do not know that?" Didier sighed. "You are not the only one who has been trying to face their fears. I have been trying to face mine in my own way." He thought of the attic room and the locked box full of drugged powder. "I have been trying to understand, to find a way out of this mess without any further hurt befalling any of the people that we love." He shook his head. "I have been witnessing this insanity ever since I was a child, I just never thought… I did not know it would… I…"

Henri laid a comforting hand on his friend's arm. "You did a good job of hiding it from everyone."

"Who would have believed me?" Didier wondered.

"I would have," Henri said. "I do." Now it was his turn to shake his head. "What do we do now, though?"

A grim look passed over Didier's handsome young face. "We watch. You watch here and I shall watch in my home. Hopefully it will be enough." He lowered his head. "It has to be enough."

"Enough, enough, enough," Erik muttered to himself as he paced the gravel drive outside the entry to Trevinny. "She has to talk to me. She must talk to me." He turned and began to stride up the drive. "She will talk to me!" he insisted to himself. He stopped before the ornately carved front door, the fingers of his raised hand clenching and unclenching. "Please let her talk to me," he whispered as he reached for the doorknocker, only to find the door suddenly pulled away from him.

"Well," Tallis said as she stood in the open door way, her arms crossed over her chest, "are you going to pace the driveway all day or are you planning on coming in?"


	65. Chapter 65

**Chapter Summary:** Tallis beckons Erik into Trevinny. And as he leaves Trevinny, the lair beckons to him. A woman shows up at the jail with food and bible verses, provoking a strange reaction from Louis.

_**Author's Notes:** Sorry about how long it took to update but I was moving … again … for the eighth time in a little over three years. I have vowed that the next time I do this it will be to a home that I own or my grave! But I am at last settled into my own apartment and able to – once again – write to my heart's content with no interruptions! Thanks for your patience and hanging in there with me! Thanks for your patience and hanging in there with me! Oh - and I am flagging this chapter with a _**"Tissue Issue"**_ warning - it gets weepy. And - finally - thanks go out to LiveJournal user _"Shaherazade"_ for her comments that lead to the twist at the end of this chapter. It was not how I had planned but - oh - it is so effective! Thank you!  
_

CHAPTER SIXTY FIVE

Erik stood just beyond the front door of Trevinny, unable to hear a single word that the woman before him had spoken. He simply stared at her, the vision she presented, drinking in every curve, every angle. He marveled at the autumn gold sparkling in her hair, the angry glint of silver frost in her gray eyes. He longed to reach out to touch her, pull her close, mold her to his body. He remembered how she always smelled of clean air and tasted like manna from heaven. And Erik remembered the stern stance he was looking at, the set of her shoulders, the frown that slightly turned down those soft lips.

"Would you like to come in or shall we just stand here and speak?" Tallis wondered pulling him from his silent appreciation.

Erik took a moment to swallow down his pride and apprehension. "Whatever will make you most comfortable," he replied.

"I know that saying my comfort depends upon your leaving will do no good," Tallis told him and moved aside. "I suppose that means you must come in."

Erik took off the fedora that covered the right side of his face and stepped across the threshold of Trevinny with more confidence than he felt. He stood like a guilty schoolboy, hat running through trembling fingers, eyes downcast as Tallis closed the heavy front door. Erik knew that she stood watching him, waiting for him to make the first move and for the first time in his life, Erik was at a loss as to what to do.

"At least have the decency to look me in the eyes," Tallis said softly, her tone not scolding or demanding, just requesting; it was what caught the strings of Erik's heart and played them like a virtuoso.

Erik finally raised his head. "I was afraid to see what might be in those eyes."

Tallis simply shook her head. "I cannot picture you afraid of anything."

"You frighten me beyond words," Erik replied.

"Good," Tallis said and began to walk down one of the two halls that branched off from the main foyer. She turned to look at Erik. "Are you going to join me or shall we shout back and forth from room to room like children?"

"I am often accused of being a child," Erik muttered but not so quietly that Tallis did not hear him and he watched as she stopped, turning to look at him.

"That is something I would never accuse you of being," she told him and turned to open the door to her left.

Erik drew his fading confidence about him like a protective cloak and walked toward Tallis. Something in his stomach dropped as he watched Tallis place her hands behind her back as he reached her side. But Erik ignored the acid that roiled up in that stomach and graciously held out a hand toward the room beyond the open door. "Shall we?" he wondered.

Tallis favored him with a smile that held little warmth. "I believe I shall – yet again – ignore the dictates of polite society and insist that you enter the room first."

"No," Erik replied, suddenly standing his ground.

Tallis' smile turned from cold and distant to sickeningly sweet. "I am afraid I am going to have to insist."

Erik refused to move. "Why?" he asked. "So you can trap me in a room and yell at me as Christine did?" He knew the words were wrong the minute they slipped unguarded from his lips. Yet Erik found he no longer had control of his thoughts, his deeds, his very words.

"Yes," Tallis said simply and entered the room leaving a shocked Erik staring at the empty space where she had stood. "If you wish to stand there," Erik heard Tallis call to him, "then by all means, please feel free to do so. I can raise my voice so that you will hear what I wish to say."

Erik could feel the roiling in his stomach begin to creep outwards, causing his hands to clench at his side, his breathing to become deeper in an attempt to stop the angry racing of his heart. The softly accented male voice that suddenly demanded his attention only added to his agitation and annoyance.

"Is there anything with which I may help?" a young man wished to know.

Erik found himself staring into a perfect and handsome face. His eyes narrowed as he took in the openness of the blue eyes, the flawless skin, the curly blonde hair. "No," he snarled at the person before him as he slammed the door closed, turning the key and turning to face Tallis.

"Now I shall have to apologize to my employer for your sadly lacking manners," she sighed.

Erik drew a deep breath and took long strides toward Tallis with each word that escaped his lips. "You do not ever apologize for me," he spat through tightly clenched teeth. He reached her side, grabbing Tallis by the arms and lifting her to her feet. "Is that understood?" Erik's angry gaze reflected the equally angry gaze staring back at him but he found he could not resist the allure of the frowning lips that beckoned so seductively. "I have missed you," Erik gasped as his breath left his body and he claimed those lips as his own and for just a moment he found the woman in his arms yielding and compliant, her lips responding to his. And just as quickly she was pulling away from him, leaving his heart as empty as his arms.

"Do not dare to assume that such actions will cause me to giggle like a girl barely out of the nursery," Tallis said softly, her eyes narrowing. "Or make me change my mind or stop the words that have been on my lips for weeks."

Erik watched as Tallis resumed her place upon the sofa, calmly smoothing out the wrinkles that his hands had created on her sleeves. He watched as she folded her hands in her lap, finally raising her eyes to his face.

"Do you wish me to get a crick in my neck while I speak to you or shall you be a gentleman and sit by my side?" Tallis wondered.

"I shall be a gentlemen," Erik groused as he sat on the opposite end of the sofa. "I shall keep my distance and listen to what you have to say on one condition."

Tallis' eyebrows raised in wonder. "I did not know that you would be setting conditions upon what I had to say."

The hands resting upon Erik's knees clenched into tight balls. "All I wish is that when you are finished, I may have my say," he replied between clenched teeth.

"I find that condition perfectly acceptable," Tallis nodded.

Erik returned her nod, his hands remaining in tight balls. "Please," he said simply as he stared at the woman sitting still and peaceful on the other end of the sofa, waiting for the angry outburst, the scathing words, the cutting looks and bitter emotion that had been his lot throughout life. He was not prepared for the honest simplicity of Tallis' reaction.

"I loved you," Tallis began. "I loved you not because of some tender, foolish feminine instinct to protect a lost stray. I did not love you out of some strange sense of pity for all you had never been nor had. I loved you simply because you were. I loved you because you treated me as an equal when we met and not as Madame Giry's paid companion. I loved you because you opened the locks to dreams I did not even know I had. I loved you because you made me smile and laugh. I loved you because you did not laugh at my inexperience. I loved you because you did not laugh at me. I loved you because you saw me as a friend. I loved you because you saw me as a woman worthy of being loved. I loved you because you created feelings and desires in me that felt right and comfortable." Tallis shook her head. "I loved you with all my heart."

"You do not love me anymore?" Erik interrupted softly, almost to himself.

"I still love you," Tallis replied. Erik saw only sadness in her eyes, heard only sadness in her words. "But I trusted you with my heart and you broke it." Tallis' chin trembled but Erik could see no tears in her eyes. "You broke my heart into tiny pieces and I will never be able to find them all again." Tallis drew a deep breath. "And I can never forgive you for that. I can never forgive you for betraying my trust."

"I never betrayed you with Christine!" Erik insisted. "We did nothing but speak! We struggled to find the words to forgive each other! We did nothing!"

Tallis heaved a deep sigh. "This is not about Christine." She thought for a moment. "Not really. This is about you and me. This is about the hope I saw in your eyes whenever you would speak of Christine. This is about my telling you that if I ever saw that hope in your eyes, I would leave. This is about my keeping my promise."

"It is a promise that does not need to be kept!" Erik could no longer contain his agitation. He rose to his feet and began to pace. "Why can you not understand – nothing happened between Christine and I!" He paused briefly, holding out his hands toward Tallis. "We … she and I … there were so many things left unsaid, left undone between us. There had been so much fear on her part and – yes – so much hope on mine. We needed to find our way past those emotions. She needed to find a way to forgive and I needed to find a way to be forgiven. And we found it!" Erik tried to compose himself. "And her husband is still alive."

"What?" Tallis exclaimed. "I thought he had died!"

"It is a long, troubled story," Erik told her. "Suffice it to say that Christine has returned to her husband and I hope for them both that the Vicomte is on the road to recovery."

Tallis lowered her head; it was not the reaction Erik was expecting. "I see," she said and kept her head lowered. "Once again Christine slips from your grasp so you think to return to me."

"God damn it!" Erik shouted, his outburst shaking Tallis. "I am not here because Christine is once again in the arms of that boy!" His voice reverberated off the walls. "I am here because I love you!"

Tallis finally rose to her feet, her anger just as palpable as Erik's. "It is not enough!" she shouted.

Erik stared at Tallis for a long moment, a strange fire beginning to glow in his eyes. "What would be enough?" he finally asked, the strange power resonating in his voice making his words seem to come from every corner of the room. Erik stood still. "What do you want from me?" His hands slowly moved outward from his body, opening, beckoning. "Tell me what you want and I will give it to you!"

Tallis, too, stood her ground. "I do not want the Phantom! So stop trying your parlor tricks on me!"

"I am the Phantom," Erik hissed.

Tallis moved quickly to stand directly before Erik, a single hand reaching up to slap the unmarred side of his face before he knew what had happened. "You are not the Phantom!" she hissed back. "You are Erik!"

"I am the Phantom!" Erik insisted. "I am a beast and a murderer! I am ugly and warped and twisted! I am every nightmare you have ever had!"

"You are Erik!" Tallis shouted, her hands reaching up to cup his angry visage. "You are the man I love," she finished, drawing his head down so that she could kiss his lips before letting him go, her head sagging against his chest. "But it is not enough," she finished, a cry in her voice.

Erik stood helplessly, his hands useless at his sides as he stared at the head resting over his beating heart. A single hand slowly reached up to rub against the sting that burned his cheek. Yet that sting did not burn nearly as bright as the words burning themselves into his heart. "What…" Erik began and paused to draw a deep breath. "What," he tried again, "would make it enough?"

"Nothing," Tallis replied with a shake of her bent head.

"There must be something!" A note of desperation could be heard in Erik's voice.

"You still do not understand," Tallis sighed as she raised her head to look Erik in the eyes.

"Then make me understand!"

Tallis clasped her hands at her waist. "I cannot trust you any longer." She shook her head. "I thought I would always be able to trust you. I thought I would be able to share your heart with Christine and your memories of her but I cannot. I do want to do so." Tallis closed her eyes against the pained look upon Erik's face. "I need more than that. I deserve more than that." She opened her eyes again. "You taught me that. You taught me that I was worthy of all that life – and love – had to offer me." Tallis laughed, it was a sad sound. "Now I find I want nothing less. I want all of you and I can never have that…"

"But you can!" Erik interrupted, fighting back the urge to grab the woman before him and shake her.

"No," Tallis replied gently. "I will never have all of you for there will always be a part that will belong to Christine. You will hear it call to you and turn from me to listen to it." Tallis nodded. "And that is when my trust in you will be betrayed again. And again. And again. And – as much as I love you – I cannot live like that." She drew a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. "We cannot live like that."

"You love me. I love you." Erik was desperately trying to find reason in the words he was hearing. "Yet you will not be with me." And he could find none. "It makes no sense!"

"You loved Christine with all your heart," Tallis began softly, "and you poured your very soul into her, into her voice and yet she loved another. Does that make any sense?"

Erik turned his head so that he did not have to look at the woman before him.

"I fell in love with a man who has a mind that amazes me in its capacity for learning. He has a zest for life that he fights against every hour of every minute of every day." Tallis let out a long breath. "And he has a heart that is so huge, he has not even begun to explore its deep expanse."

Erik whirled on her. "And that is not enough for you? What more do you want?"

Tallis stuck her chin out. "I want a man who belongs to only me. Whose every thought is only for me. Whose heart beats only for me."

"And you think I am incapable of such things?" Erik asked softly.

"I do not think you are incapable," Tallis replied. "I know you are incapable."

There was a long potent silence between them broken by Erik once again grabbing Tallis by the arms. He leaned slightly forward so that his face was nearly touching hers. "Then know this, Mademoiselle," he began. "I loved Christine. Is that what you wanted to hear? Is it? I loved her! I loved her for her beauty and grace and all the potential I saw in her. She was the most sweetly exquisite creature I had ever seen!" Erik could see the tears begin to gather in the corners of Tallis' eyes and he knew she would never let them fall before him. "I loved her and I thought I would die when she left to go with that boy. I thought my life was over. I wanted to do nothing but crawl into a hole and die!"

The emotional heaving of Erik's chest matched that of the woman he held. "I wanted to die! I did not want to live a life without beauty, without the beauty that Christine brought to my darkness." He shook his head, an ugly angry frown distorting his lips. "And then one day I met a young woman who did not turn from me in horror. She smiled and took my hand and treated me as if I was just another human being. She began to show me that there was a world beyond my darkness. She stood at the edge of the world I wanted and beckoned me forward. And I let her! Damn it all to Hell, I let her! I let down my guards and let her into my darkness. And – do you know what I learned from her?" There was no answer from Tallis and Erik shook her. "Do you?" he shouted.

"No," Tallis whispered.

"I learned that beauty does not need to be exquisite like a fine porcelain or a painting from a master." Some of the anger deflated from Erik and his angry frown began to fade into sadness. "She taught me that beauty lies within the simplest of things, that beauty lies within each of us. She taught me to see beyond the obvious. She taught me to reach beyond myself for what I desired. She taught me to reach for the stars that gleamed in her eyes." Erik sighed. "And I very nearly held them in my hands. I had true beauty within my grasp - a beauty that is honest and true, a beauty that will never fade, a beauty that is eternal – and it slipped through my fingers."

"Not on purpose," Tallis reminded him as she sniffled back her tears.

"No," Erik had to agree, "not on purpose. But such is the story of my life." He shook his head sadly. "I always manage to find beauty only to have it torn from me." He let go of Tallis arms, dropping his hands to his sides, studying her eyes. "It really is over, is it not?"

Tallis could only nod.

"Can you at least find it within your heart to forgive me?" Erik wondered.

"There is nothing to forgive," Tallis said, her chin trembling. "I knew what I was doing. I knew what consequences might arise if I fell in love with you. I was willing to take that chance – once. I cannot do it again." She worried her bottom lip for a moment. "I cannot face the uncertainty of that which will always call to you. I cannot take the dread that someone will find you out. I cannot bear the thought that I would have to watch you face a court for all you have done." Tallis reached out for Erik, placing a shaking hand on his arm. "If I am to ever face the possibility of losing you, I would like to be the one to chose the time and place. That time is now and that place is here."

"Thank you for your honesty." Erik refused to hang his head. "It was always one of the things I loved most about you." He cleared his throat. "What will you do now?"

Tallis shrugged. "Remain in England, keep house for the Count. He has been very good to me." She looked around at the elegantly appointed room. "And I like it here. This is a fine home and the Count has given me the estate cottage as my own; it is large enough so that my cousins may come for visits." Tallis stood silent for a moment as she struggled to read the now veiled eyes of the man before her. "And what of you? What shall become of you?"

"I will return to France," Erik told her. "I must compose a lullaby for Meg and Val – they are expecting their first child."

A genuine smile crossed Tallis' face. "I am glad! Madame Giry shall be the best grandmother! I know such news must make her happy."

Erik inclined his head. "It does. It has." He thought for a moment. "After the lullaby is finished, I do not know what I shall do. Perhaps Antoinette will be able to give me some guidance." He laughed, there was no emotion in the sound. "She has always given me guidance." Erik drew himself up and gave Tallis a sad smile. He reached out a hand to cup her cheek. "I will always carry you within my heart," he began, a single finger beginning to caress the skin beneath it. "I will hope that you will find someone who will be worthy of all that you have to offer." He leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss against Tallis' lips, turning his head to whisper in her ear. "And I shall always love you."

"Erik …" Tallis began.

Erik placed a finger against her lips as he drew back. "No. Do not say anything else. Let me at least take away my illusions." He withdrew his finger. "Perhaps there will come a day in the future when you will receive a packet from your old Erik. I hope that you will accept it with the graciousness I know you possess. And I hope it will please you."

Erik turned on his heel and walked across the room, stopping to turn the key in the lock before opening the door. He nodded politely at the blonde man coming out of the room across the hall before turning down that hall. Erik walked erect, head held high, footsteps measured and even. It was that stance, that stride that walked out of the front door of Trevinny and down the drive. As he walked Erik began the process of shedding the light of the world and gratefully began to return to the darkness of the lair. He could feel the loving warmth flee before the cold bitterness that was a known and well-loved companion. Each step back toward the inn on the other side of the village saw Erik the man began to disappear to be replaced by Erik the Phantom.

Yet neither man nor Phantom heard the pained cry that escaped the lips of the woman he was leaving behind. Neither man nor Phantom would see as she fell to her knees, hands going over her mouth as she screamed out her pain. Neither man nor Phantom would see the young blonde man rush to her side, going to his knees, pulling her close, knowing and sharing her pain. The man was no longer capable of caring and the Phantom did not.

Even as Erik faded from man to Phantom, another illusion, a deadlier illusion was being played out in a French jail in the village of Chagny.

Inspector Guy Rousseau was coming down the stairs from the second floor when a woman with a large bonnet covering her face entered the jail through a door held open by a young officer. Guy took note of the covered tray she held in her hands, the small leather pouch dangling from one arm and shook his head, wondering at the ways of village life. The jail did not have a proper way to prepare meals for the current prisoners and the local church had volunteered themselves to fix food to sustain the prisoners' stomachs and bible verses to sustain what was left of their souls. Chief Inspector Pichette had been greatly perturbed by the lack of security surrounding the two dangerous prisoners housed in the simple jail and had ordered the church congregants to always be escorted by a high-ranking official.

Tonight that official was Inspector Rousseau.

Guy smiled as he descended the remaining few stairs and crossed the wooden floor to stand before the sergeant's desk. "May I help you, Madame?" he asked, smiling as the woman turned to him.

"Please, if you would be so kind, Monsieur," the woman replied.

Guy was momentarily shocked by the deep tone of the woman's voice. Then, as he studied the face beneath the bonnet, his shock was replaced by understanding.

The woman was of middle-aged with a face that was probably once exceedingly beautiful but now bore the weight of her age. She was dressed all in black, a color that effectively hid what was beneath, just as the large bonnet hid the color of her hair. Yet nothing could hide the emotion in her large eyes. Guy found himself drawn into those windows to her soul, finding himself becoming lost and entangled in an emotion he could not explain.

Guy mentally shook himself.

"You bring food for the prisoners?" he asked.

The woman nodded her head. _"Oui, Monsieur."_ She inclined her head toward the leather pouch she carried. "I also bring verses from the bible in the hopes of redeeming the souls that God has placed in each of us."

Guy shook his head. "These men have no souls – begging your pardon, Madame."

"Such is the sentiment around the village," the woman acknowledged. "Yet I would like to believe that all men are capable of being redeemed."

"Would that I still had your faith," Guy said with a smile and opened the small swinging door that led to the back where the prisoners were held. He stepped back to allow the woman to pass before him. "You know you must leave the tray with one of the guards, as well as the bible verses. You must not get near enough to the prisoners to allow them to touch you. I am responsible for your safety."

The woman stared straight ahead. "God is responsible for my safety."

Guy shook his head and wondered at those who would always struggle to see the good in others. He turned the key in the lock, opening the door and knowing that the two prisoners within had no good within them and were utterly incapable of being redeemed. "Place the tray in the middle," Guy instructed the woman. "Halfway between the cells."

"As you instruct," the woman said and walked a few steps into the cell area of the jail, bending over slightly to rest the tray atop the stool that had been placed there.

"They take such good care of their toys," Nico's voice could be heard saying.

Louis' hands could be seen holding onto the bars of his cell. "I do not understand why they bother to feed us if they only intend to kill us later." He snorted. "And they bring us bible verses that they know damn well we ain't gonna read."

"The stomach and the soul both need to be nourished," the woman said as she straightened, turning slowly to look at Louis, a smile crossing her face as the recognition dawned in his eyes.

"You," he breathed.

"The good Lord always watches over all His lost sheep," the woman said as she stared at Louis.

"Madame," Guy said.

"Always," the woman breathed in Louis' direction before turning and leaving, allowing Guy to close and lock the door behind her.

Her single word rang in Louis' head like the clarion call of the trumpets on Judgement Day.

"_Always."_


	66. Chapter 66

**Chapter Summary:** Henri and Didier realize they are unsure of what they know and plot to discover the truth. As Raoul continues to recover, he and Christine struggle with the aftermath of what has happened. And Erik and Tallis struggle with their own aftermath.

CHAPTER SIXTY SIX

The two men met at the front door, shaking hands, unspoken relief in their eyes. They nodded silently to each other before turning and climbing the staircase that suddenly loomed before them, their footsteps heavy upon carpeted treads. They climbed in silence, neither looking at the other, each intent on their own hidden thoughts, the thoughts they did not realize they shared. The two men paused at the top of the stairs and turned left to move down a hall and through a closed door that opened onto another staircase. They continued to climb upward, their steps echoing on the bare wood of the dusty staircase. The two men continued in silence until they reached a closed door. One of the young men pulled out a key and opened the door before turning to his companion and nodding toward the vast expanse just beyond the open door.

Quietly the two men walked into the large room, their faces wrinkling at the stale hot air they encountered even in the cool of November. They side-stepped the clutter, the trunks, the broken furniture as they moved toward another closed door hidden in the shadows. They ignored the dusty memories from previous residents and walked straight toward the closed door. They paused before the door and the young man who had unlocked the door to the attic stairs pulled a chain from beneath his shirt. He slipped the chain over his head and slipped the key into the lock and pushed the door open, stepping inside, trusting his companion to follow.

The man with the key moved to a wardrobe, pausing before it as he drew a deep breath, his hands reaching for the latches. He slowly opened the wardrobe, reaching in, pausing again before pulling out two outfits and handing one to the man behind him.

"Dear God," Henri said, as he examined the woman's cloak he held. He raised it to his nose and inhaled. A stunned look crossed his face as he lowered it. "That is a man's scent!"

Didier held out his hand and Henri placed the cloak into it and received a man's jacket.

Henri did with the jacket what he had done with the cloak and raised it to his nose, inhaling lightly. He lowered the jacket, shaking his head. "It is a woman's scent," he breathed as he handed the jacket back to Didier. Henri lowered himself onto a closed trunk and raised his head to look at his friend. "What is happening? Have we been so wrong?"

Didier carefully placed the garments back into the wardrobe, closing the door before turning to look at Henri. "But which of us has been wrong?" Didier wondered softly and crossed to a desk in the corner of the room. He opened the desk and retrieved a leather case. Didier walked over and took a seat beside Henri on the trunk, taking the second key on the chain and opening the case.

"What is that?" Henri wondered.

"What do you think it is?" Didier wondered back as he held up a vial containing a white powder.

"A drug of some sort," Henri replied.

Didier twisted the vial held cautiously between his fingers back and forth, the powder inside resembling the snow that threatened outside. "Have you been talking to your cousin?"

"When I can manage to sneak past Christine." A rueful smile crossed Henri's face. "She has become so protective."

"That is not necessarily a bad thing," Didier whispered and more loudly, "What has he said of his time with those men?"

"Not much," Henri admitted. "Raoul speaks of it in hushed tones and only when we do not press him for the details." A frown crossed Henri's face. "It is as if he were referring to a nightmare when he does speak of it." Henri sighed. "And we all know that he is for we can hear his screams when he is sleeping. It is a wonder Raoul is not locked away in a sanitarium."

Didier turned to look at the man beside him. "Perhaps not so much of a miracle," he said softly as he continued to play with the vial of white powder. "You were correct when you said this was a drug. I know for I have tried it myself."

"What?" Henri exclaimed as he grabbed Didier's arm. "Are you …" he could not finish.

"Insane?" Didier finished for him. "Perhaps not as insane as some would wish me but just insane enough to see the truth." His fingers closed around the vial. "I found this box, this drug, when I came up here one rainy summer afternoon. I must have been around sixteen." Didier's eyes closed with the memory. "I wanted to explore, to understand my family's history for my parents did not often speak of it. I found this room and began to rummage around and found a locked box in the desk. I knew there was an old set of keys kept in my uncle's desk." Didier opened his eyes and stared at the box in his lap. "Xavier often mentioned that he did not know what half of the keys were for and I just knew that one of them had to open this box. And I was correct. It opened the box and I found just what you see before you."

"But you said you took it!" Henri was shocked. "You could have died! How did you know it was not some strange poison used to kill vermin?"

"Because I took a small amount of the powder in a handkerchief with me when I returned to my parents at the end of that summer," Didier admitted. "And I took it to our local chemist and he told me what it was." He shook his head in wonderment. "I have known all these years." He carefully placed the vial of white powder back in the box, slowly lowering the lid. "A small bit will make a person ill, a larger dose will disorient them, an even larger dose will send them to sleep and more than that will kill." Didier turned the key, once again locking the box, before turned back to Henri. "I took just enough of the drug to send me to sleep. If Raoul were given enough of this drug to disorient him, it may be the reason he survived what would have surely destroyed most men."

Henri placed his head into his hands, leaning over, resting his elbows on his knees. "Oh, dear God," he breathed and turned his head slightly to glance at Didier from the corner of his eye. "What do we do now?"

"I wish I knew." A pained look passed over Didier's face, accentuating the pained look in his brown eyes. "I thought I knew the truth," he said as he looked at the wardrobe before turning to Henri. "You thought you knew the truth. And now neither of us is sure." A lone finger tapped the leather box he still held. "One thing of which I am certain is that I now understand how the drug affects a person."

"Oh no," Henri said as he straightened. "No, no, no. If you even think you are in danger, you must leave this place. Now!"

"I cannot!" Didier said. "You were correct the last time we spoke in private – too many innocent lives hang on what we think we know. And I will not have the life of an innocent, unborn child on my conscience!"

Henri looked stunned. "You do not think the baby is in danger? Why would anyone want to hurt the baby?"

Didier grabbed Henri's upper arm tightly enough to leave bruises. "Think about it!" he hissed. "What better way to completely and utterly destroy any happiness that returned with Raoul? It is obvious your cousin was never meant to return and now that he has, Christine and the baby have returned. Do you not think it would destroy everyone if something were to happen to Christine and the child that she carries?"

Henri's pale blue eyes flicked back and forth, the thoughts racing in the mind behind them. Finally he raised his eyes to look at Didier, a grim look on his face. "It would kill Raoul," he said simply. "It would destroy everyone." The grimness was replaced by worry. "But what do we do now? We cannot approach anyone with what we know without proof – one way or the other. The inspector told me as much!"

"I have given this much thought," Didier told his friend, "and I believe I have come up with a solution." A strange light twinkled in his eyes as his lips curled into a smile. "How would you like going back to being a rogue and a scoundrel?"

The smile that began to curl Henri's lips matched the one on Didier's face. "I should like that," Henri replied, his eyes narrowing. "I should like that very much."

And across that valley at Chagny a much more pleasant smile was upon Christine's face as she stood at the foot of her husband's bed, watching as he slowly and carefully walked to the other side of the room. Christine waited until Raoul had sat on the heavily padded chaise before moving across the room, stopping before him. "Would you like me to help?" she wondered.

"I can do it myself, thank you," Raoul said in clipped tones, as he swung his legs upward, pushing himself backward to rest against the back of the chaise. Christine watched as he winced at the pain that came from his still healing hands, the sweat beading on his forehead with the effort expended.

"Would you like a blanket?" Christine wondered.

Raoul opened his eyes and glared at his wife. "Will you stop hovering?" he shouted. "You are in here day and night like some damn nursemaid! I do not need another damn nursemaid!"

Christine was stunned at Raoul's reaction and backed up a step. "I am sorry," she whispered. "Perhaps I should leave."

"Perhaps you should," Raoul replied.

Christine bit back her tears, unwilling to let Raoul see her cry. "When you want to talk to me or see me, just send someone. I think I shall go and spend some time with Meg and Val." She turned her back on her husband and began to walk toward the door. Her hand was just closing about the knob when she heard Raoul call out to her.

"Please, Christine, do not leave."

Christine was afraid to turn back to look at Raoul, knowing that if she did she would burst into tears and throw herself at his feet.

"I have so many damn nursemaids," she heard Raoul begin softly. "Philippe and my sisters and the staff. I even have the nurses that the doctors insist I need. I do not need another nursemaid." Christine heard her husband's tone of voice grow warmer, more desperate. "I need my wife."

Christine swallowed back the lump in her throat and turned around. "Do you really?" she wondered. "Do you really need me?" She watched as Raoul moved his legs, patting the empty space on the chaise. Christine walked over and sat down, keeping her hands folded atop her swollen belly, her head bent.

"How could you even ask such a question?" Raoul wanted to know, reaching out hesitantly for Christine's hands. "I have always needed you!"

"Is it me you need?" Christine asked and drew a deep breath. "Or the baby?"

A puzzled look crossed Raoul's face that she could not see. "I need you both!"

Christine kept her head bent and closed her eyes but could feel as one of Raoul's hands rested atop of her folded ones.

"You said that the baby – our baby – was what kept me alive in your memory when you thought I was … when…"

Christine finally raised her head, opening her eyes. "You do not need to say it," she said softly. "Please do not say it." She watched as Raoul shook his head.

"I need to say it," he whispered, nearly to himself. "I need to say it, Christine." Raoul drew a deep breath. "When you thought I was … when you thought I was dead."

Christine moved one of her hands so that she could sandwich Raoul's hand between her own.

"And while you were clinging to our child, I was clinging to my angel," Raoul went on.

"I know," Christine nodded. "You were speaking to her that first night I returned." She bit the inside of her lip. "It frightened me a little."

Raoul turned his head to look out the window at the gray November sky. "I never even saw her until I was… until he put me in that thing."

Christine wanted to ask what thing Raoul was speaking about but the terrified look that suddenly came over his face stopped the words on her lips.

"My angel kept me alive," Raoul continued. "She was always there through the worst of what they did. She was the one who begged me to not listen to their words. She was the one who always reminded me of what it was that we shared. She was the one who kept promising me that I would come home, that I would live to see our child." He turned back to Christine. "And she looked just like you."

"Raoul," Christine managed through the tears she could no longer hold back.

"I am trying so hard, Christine, " Raoul told her. "I am trying so hard to forget what they did and what they said." He took his free hand and lifted one of Christine's, intertwining their fingers. "I am trying to remember that I am safe in my childhood home. I am trying to remember that I can be loved and that I can love in return. I am trying to remember the man who left home that morning." Raoul's voice grew soft. "The man that you loved, the man that you married." He shook his head. "But it is so hard and I am so damn angry!"

"I understand your anger," Christine began gently. "I was so angry for so long. I was angry at those men for taking you. I was angry at myself for letting it happen. I was angry at … I was just angry. I yelled and screamed and struggled to be the woman you were teaching me to be."

"What changed you?" Raoul interrupted. "What happened?"

A little smile crossed Christine's face. "The baby moved," she replied. "I felt our child move for the first time right before your birthday." Christine lifted her face to study the ceiling. "It was … it was as if you had forgiven me. It was as if you were trusting me to raise your child to be the person you would want it to be." Christine lowered her face so that she was once again looking at her husband, the puzzled look on his face. "I knew then that I was not going to lose my baby like I had lost everyone else I had ever loved."

"Do you think I blame you for what happened?" Raoul wondered.

"Yes." Christine drew her new-found maturity about her. "If I had not been so afraid of losing our child; if I had not been so afraid of disappointing you by losing the baby; if I had the strength and courage that you possess, I would have been able to tell you I was carrying our child. If I had done that, we would not have had that fight and you would not have left. And none of this would have happened."

Now it was Raoul's turn to lower his eyes, unable to meet the clear calmness in his wife's eyes.

"It is all right," Christine told him, knowing why Raoul would not look at her. "I all ready blame myself for what has happened. You will never, ever know the guilt I carry for what has happened to you – to us." Christine drew a deep breath. "And there is something else you need to know."

"What else could there possibly be?" Raoul wondered as he slowly raised his head. He studied the face of the woman before him; he began to shake his head back and forth. "Oh Lord, Christine," he breathed, his hands tightening on hers. "Do not tell me you were with him." Raoul's tone grew angry again. "You tell me you were not with him!"

"I cannot," Christine told her husband and watched as he grew silent. She refused to show the pain she felt as Raoul's hands tightened on her own. She just sat quietly, waiting for a unknown reaction from a man she no longer knew. "It was nothing, Raoul," she tried.

"Nothing?" Raoul wondered, as a frown creased his features. "Nothing!" he shouted and flung Christine's hands away from his. "The moment you think I am dead, you turn to him? And you think it is nothing? After everything he put you through – put us through – how could you? How is he even alive?"

Christine refused to be let Raoul see her inner turmoil and struggled to maintain an outward peace. "I did not turn to him, he sought me out after hearing what had happened."

"And he somehow managed to find you when my own family could not?" Raoul was stunned. "How convenient for you both."

"It was not like that!" Christine insisted.

"Then how was it, Christine?" Raoul held his hands wide and shook his head. "Explain this to me because I find this incomprehensible! I cannot believe you would … that he … How could you do this to us? To me?"

The struggle to maintain her calm was rapidly becoming a losing battle for Christine. "I did not do anything!" Christine drew several deep breaths. "Madame Giry told him where I was living. He wanted my forgiveness for all that he had done."

"I am sure that was all he wanted," Raoul said sarcastically.

"It was," Christine replied in a tone that was harsher than she intended. "He," she shook her head. "Erik wanted my forgiveness so that he could move on with his life – with the woman with whom he was falling in love. And I forgave him," Christine paused for a brief moment, "for both of us."

"You. Did. What?" Raoul exploded. "You had no right! None!"

Christine slowly rose to her feet. "I thought you were dead, remember? I lived through your funeral! I kissed a casket that I thought held my husband's remains!" A single hand reached up to rub at a throbbing temple. "I needed to find some sense of peace, some way to let go of my past so I could concentrate on raising your child!" Christine's lips compressed into a thin line. "You have no idea of what I have gone through. And I am not about to tell you now because I cannot talk to you when you are like this." She sniffled back her tears. "I love you more than you will ever know but at this moment, I am not very sure that I like you. I am not sure that I even know you." Christine turned and walked quickly out of the room, shutting the door behind her before she had to listen to another angry, bitter accusation from her husband. She sagged against the closed door, one hand going to cover her mouth so that no one would hear the cries she could no longer hide, the other hand going to massage the familiar pain she felt in her side. Christine straightened and walked down the hallway, heading for the first floor and the comfort she knew she would find with Meg. She could not see the man who stared painfully at the closed door to his bedroom. She could not see the tears forming in his eyes. She would never be able to see his heart breaking.

"I wonder if you every truly knew me," Raoul whispered to the closed door before turning his head and leaning it back to rest upon the chaise, one hand going over his eyes, saying things to himself that he was afraid to say to his wife. "I wonder if I ever knew you. Perhaps this was all a mistake. Perhaps I should have never chased after you that night. Perhaps …" Raoul's voice trailed off and he lowered his arm, reaching for the vase that rested upon the table next to the chaise. His hand curled around it and suddenly the vase was flying across the room to slam into the opposite wall. The sound of the shattering porcelian was like a balm to Raoul's anger and he placed both hands over his eyes. "God damn it," he whispered to himself, a cry in his voice. "God damn it all!"

Even as Raoul struggled with his pain and anger and heartbreak, in the north of France another man struggled with the same emotions. He struggled with the oppressive weight upon his shoulders as he climbed the stairs to rooms that had once seemed to be located in the clouds, his tread slow and heavy. He struggled with hands that felt like stone as he managed to place the key in the lock, opening the door. He dropped his simple bag on the floor beside the door, a single hand pushing the door closed behind him. He moved across the room to sit uneasily on the piano bench, struggling to find something to fill the voids where his now shattered heart and soul had once begun to grow. He reached for the portfolio of music resting on the piano, fingers curling about the soft leather that held the sheets.

"God damn it!" Erik shouted as he threw the music across the room, sheets of carefully constructed stanzas fluttering to the floor in disarray. He turned around on the piano bench, hands balling into fists, a snarl twisting his lips. "God damn you to Hell!" Erik continued to shout as his fists raised up, ready to slam down upon the finely crafted wood covering the ebony and ivory keys beneath.

But the hands paused just above the wood, their owner staring at them as if he did not recognize them. "What am I doing?" Erik asked, a frown deeply creasing his face. "What the Hell am I doing?" he repeated as he opened his tightly curled hands, watching his fingers shake with repressed emotion. He slowly turned around on the piano bench. "What the Hell am I doing?" he wondered again as he stared at the mess of music that stretched from one end of his garett to the other as the color slowly drained from his face.

"Tallis," he breathed as he fell to his knees, hands reaching out for the papers strewn before him. "What have I done?" Erik asked himself with each paper he picked up as he crawled across the garett floor. "What have I done?

As he picked up the last paper, Erik settled his back against the closed door to his garett and carefully and methodically began to place the music he had composed for Tallis back into its proper order. He treated each sheet as if it were the soft hands he longed to hold. He stacked each sheet in its proper order as gently as if it were the feel of a woman in his arms. Softly he folded the leather pouch back around the music as if it were the lips he longed to kiss. And then Erik hugged the leather pouch to his chest, leaning his head back against the door, staring at the ceiling.

"One last thing," he whispered. "One last thing and then I am finished."

"One last thing and then I am finished," Serge said to the woman standing on the cliff before her cottage, studying the gray, rolling ocean. A frown crossed Serge's face as he received no answer and he reached out to place a gentle hand on Tallis' arm. "Fraulein, please," he pleaded. "It has been nearly a week. I am worried for you. I do not wish to leave you in such a condition."

Tallis finally turned to look at the young man who had given her a job and a home and his friendship. "Leave?" she wondered in a curious tone.

Serge nodded. "I have a letter from my parents," he told her. "They are demanding my presence for the holidays." A funny little smile crossed his face. "My parents are very stern and very old fashioned. I find I am unable to refuse them." The smile grew gentle. "And Ilse is wishing to see me." Serge sighed and shook his head. "I find I wish to see her, as well."

Tallis nodded slowly. "You need to go to her," she said softly and turned her attention back to the ocean, the strong, cold breezes ruffling her hair, chapping the skin of her cheeks, turning it red. Yet the skin of her face was no redder than the eyes that had not slept or stopped crying since she had sent Erik away.

"I do," Serge acknowledged. "Yet I find I cannot leave you in such a state. I know you are not sleeping well. I know you have barely touched any food. You will make yourself ill if you continue on in such a manner. Will you not come back to France? I will escort you to your parents' home on my way to Germany." He squeezed the arm he held. "You should be surrounded by the comfort of family." He nodded toward the angry November ocean. "Not the coldness of approaching winter."

"I can feel nothing," Tallis told him, her tone dead, "so it does not matter whether I am with family or alone."

Serge turned Tallis so that was facing him. "It matters to me!" he insisted. "I have grown to admire you and value your friendship. I would so dislike it if anything were to happen to you!"

"I am not going to do anything foolish," Tallis assured him. "I am not that big of a coward." She shook her head. "I just need a bit more time. I need … I need …" Tallis drew a deep breath. "Are you going to close Trevinny?" she wondered.

"Yes," Serge replied, "and I will need your help with that. I do not think I will return until the next spring. It is a long time to be alone, Fraulein. Will you not come back with me?"

"No," came the one word answer. "I will help you close up Trevinny and then I will ask one of my cousins to come and spend the time here with me." Tallis cast her eyes downward. "I would rather spend the time alone but I know you will never leave if I say such a thing."

Serge nodded. "I most definitely would not leave!" His tone of voice was amazed but grew gentle at the sound of tears being sniffled back. Serge looked at the cottage behind him. "Perhaps we should close up your cottage," he thought out loud. "I believe I would prefer it if you would stay in the main house while I am gone; there are too many things of value for it to be left alone. And bring your cousins; make it a merry time!"

Tallis raised her head. "If you wish."

"I do," Serge assured her and leaned in to place a gentle kiss on Tallis' cheek. "I must go back to the house and begin preparations. Do not stay long in this cold air. Come and have dinner with me." A crooked smile crossed Serge's handsome face. "I shall not take 'no' for an answer."

"I will have dinner with you," Tallis replied.

"In three hours, then," Serge said and began to walk back toward Trevinny.

Tallis watched him until she could see his distant figure enter through the back door before turning – once again – to look out over the angry ocean. She closed her eyes and listened to the sound of the ocean beating against the base of the cliffs, the sigh of the wind as it swept over the lonely moor land. It was the music of nature and would normally bring peace and contentment to her heart. But Tallis longed to hear a different music, a more poignant, loving music.

"Oh, Erik," she sighed into the wind, drawing her shawl more tightly about her shoulders.


	67. Chapter 67

**Chapter Summary:** It is in the dark hours of the night – when we are most vulnerable to that which we hide – that they come to haunt us. They come – the spirits of the past crying out, the shadows of the present hovering, waiting and the shades of the future beckoning us onward.

_**Author's Notes:** These transition chapters are always difficult for me to write for there is always so much that must be said, so much emotion to pull forth. I have said it several times – that music has a connection to my ability to write … especially the difficult things. There is a song on my newest CD and these are the lyrics that helped me get through this chapter:_

There's a place of quiet stillness 'tween the light and shadows reach  
Where the hurting and the hopeless seek Everlasting peace  
Words of men and songs of angels whisper comfort bittersweet  
Mending grief and life eternal where joy and sorrow meet

There's a place the lost surrender and the weary will retreat  
Full of grace and mercy tender in times of unbelief  
For the wounded there is healing, strength is given to the weak  
Broken hearts find love redeeming where joy and sorrow meet  
_"Where Joy and Sorrow Meet" by David James White from the CD "Stand" by Avalon_

CHAPTER SIXTY SEVEN

Midnight came softly, carried in on the tiny feet of fragile white flakes that fluttered down from a heavy gray sky. The snow fell steadily for nearly two hours, blanketing all of France beneath a soft warm coat of diamond dust. As the snow moved westward, taking aim for the English Channel and what lay beyond, it trailed the gray clouds in its wake, like the rustling satin of a woman's bustle. And as the clouds parted, flowing away, they left behind a sky full of stars that twinkled brightly in the chilled air of November. The stars looked upon the silence left behind by the snow, granting their blessing to the fairy tale world below. Yet not everyone received the benediction of the peaceful night. There were those whose slumber was troubled, whose thoughts were haunted by the memories of what had been, thoughts of what was and the possibilities of what may come.

Ghosts of a long ago night, a night full of rights asserted and passion forgotten, long surrendered to the realm of "What Might Have Been" haunted the woman's sleep. Her mind's eye watched as doors locked behind a massive shadow and she trembled as the shadow approached her. She tried moving away, fleeing across the bed but found arms pulled backward, her body tossed like a rag doll onto satin that lapped at her like water. Shadowy hands teased at her, touching, exploring even as lips moved over her skin, seeking, demanding. And suddenly the shadow was everywhere, on her, covering her, in her and, frozen by a familiar fear, she could do nothing. She bit back the cries of pain and the tears of regret that she knew would only bring forth further anger and waited until the Shadow finished. She lay silently in shadowy arms, listening as words of possession meant as love were whispered in her ear. Shadowy lips moved closer to her ear and she could read the words that slipped silently from them, stirring old memories and startling her awake with a cry with a cry of "Money". Monique quickly slipped her hands over her mouth, not wishing to disturb any ghosts that may still have slumbered nearby. The look of fear that had crossed her face as she awoke was quickly replaced by one of anger as Monique drew deep breaths to calm her racing heart. She slowly lowered her hands, one reaching behind her head to smooth out a long, black braid. "One day," the whispered promise came. "One day I will have my moment." Her gaze turned toward windows that looked eastward over the valley, toward the other great house. "I promise. I will have my moment."

Other thoughts, different memories played across the mind of the man who slumbered across the hall. A contented smile played across a still visage as he watched young men in scholarly robes move between huge, shadowy buildings. He laughed in his sleep with the two young men whose heads bent so close together, their laughter echoing down long corridors of learning. And suddenly he found himself flying upwards, away from those shadowy buildings and as he looked down he could see cities give way to towns that gave way to villages that gave way to a countryside full of rolling hills, snow-covered mountains, dark forests and babbling water. His feet touched down on soft grass just in time to find himself knocked over by a small, tow-headed child. He laughed as he wrestled the youngster, consciously allowing the child to get the upper hand. And another hand reached down for him, a familiar hand, the hand of a friend. He gratefully took it, allowing his dearest friend to raise him up, placing his hand into the delicate hand of a vision with purple eyes and ebony hair. He returned the gentle smile of the vision whose hand he held as they disappeared into the silvery fog that began to rise up from the ground beneath their feet. He gave a last smile and wave to the man, who waited just beyond the all-encompassing fog, his hand raised in farewell and benediction. He watched from somewhere beyond himself, as hours flowed into days that seamlessly flowed into years, bringing forth a happiness that he never knew was possible as he built a life with his vision. The memories of heated passion and quiet contentment were the embers that faded even as his dream faded into the blackness of sleep. Xavier sighed in his sleep as he rolled over, a single word on his lips – "Monique".

Unlike the people who had taken him in, making him the heir to an ancient family name and fortune, Didier was finding sleep – any sleep – elusive. He sat on the edge of his bed, still in the clothes he had worn to dinner hours earlier. His jacket was carelessly discarded over a chair, his cufflinks thrown on the top of his dresser, his tie undone and hanging loosely about his neck. From the darkness of his room, Didier had watched as the snow fell, hypnotized by the dancing flakes. In each white flake, Didier imagined the innocent, unfulfilled possibilities of the future. He saw all the different, divergent paths that a life may take. He heard the music of laughter, felt the warmth of love. And as the falling snow began to dissipate, giving way to the gray clouds, Didier had bitten his lip, fingers digging into the satin coverlet beneath them. He had wanted to scream to that impenetrable grayness to go away, to stop swallowing the future, to leave lives to be lived, to allow promises to come to fruition. He had wanted to scream but would not. Didier was terrified that if he began to scream, he would not be able to stop and the insanity he had witnessed, that he so feared, would finally claim him as another victim. So he had sat on the edge of his bed, shaking, hands clenching and unclenching, wrinkling expensive satin, as the urge to scream began to creep outwards, threatening to swallow him whole. And just as he had been ready to give in to his urges, the grayness had fled, leaving the bright eyes of angels winking down from heaven. Didier let out a long breath, finally allowing his eyes to close as his head began to droop.

Across the valley, at the other great house, Henri, too, was finding sleep to be an elusive commodity. Yet unlike his friend, Henri was not bound still and senseless by his fears. He had already faced the fear that so terrified Didier and had come away with his sanity intact. A smile briefly crossed Henri's lips; not only he had come away with his sanity but with his cousin and a new-found respect from his family. But as quickly as the smile had appeared it disappeared, replaced by a look of pained resignation. Henri paused in his pacing to shake his head and gather his thoughts before he resumed the back and forth motion across the hand-knotted carpet beneath his feet. He knew that the respect he had earned, the respect that bolstered an ego buried deeply beneath self-doubt, the respect that filled his heart and lifted him up was going to be fleeting. Henri knew that as soon he began to exhibit his old ways of drinking and carousing all that he had earned, all the he had accomplished would be swept away, leaving him lonely and bereft once again. Henri sighed and moved to sit on the window seat, watching the snow-covered world below. He leaned his head against a window pane, allowing the cold to burn into his forehead, even as resolve burned itself into his heart. Henri knew he had no choice, that too many lives were hanging on his ability to pull off this act of subterfuge. He thought of one life yet unlived and knew he would face and accept the consequences of his actions. And – perhaps later– when lives were safe and the future secured those about him would understand and welcome him back into their embrace. Henri closed his eyes and did the only thing he could do - he hoped.

Not far from where Henri hoped into a silent night, Philippe found his dreams full of hope for the first time in months. Gone were the images of a future being swept into an unfathomable darkness; they had been replaced by a brightness that illuminated a life beyond what could be seen. Gone were the sounds of pain and loss replaced the music of laughter, the soft whisperings of love reclaimed. Philippe allowed himself to be swept along on the gentle tide of happy emotions. Much like the youth he had been in days nearly forgotten, Philippe allowed himself to shed the heavy garments of an emotional winter, letting them be replaced by the freedom brought in with the warmth of returning spring. He freely jumped into the light and the future and felt as they surrounded him in a gentle halo of all that they had to offer. Philippe felt himself carried along on the swelling tide of warm emotion and bright promise; yet there was still something that pulled at him from beneath. There was something that threatened to pull him away from all that he wanted, all that had been returned. Philippe looked down and saw a mass of black hands grabbing at his feet, pulling him down even as they crept slowly up his body. Philippe began to panic as the hands reached his throat, closing about it, cutting off his air, stifling the scream that erupted from his throat, forcing him awake. Philippe drew several deep steadying breaths as an arm went over his eyes in an attempt to shut out the remains of his nightmare, the remains of his guilt. "I am so sorry," he whispered to his darkened room.

Words whispered into the dark could also be heard in a softly lit bedroom down the hall from where Philippe's peaceful slumber had fallen victim to the guilt he still bore. "Dear God," Raoul whispered as he sat in the middle of the huge bed, "when is it going to stop?" He looked down at hands till shaking from the latest nightmare and quickly closed them, just as quickly opening them. He winced and bit back the cry of pain as healing nail beds protested their indignation at such treatment. "When is any of it going to stop?" Raoul wondered. He wanted to close his eyes against the images that raced across his mind but was terrified of the different monsters the dark would bring forth. He was not yet ready to face those monsters again. He was not yet ready to let them take more of his strength, his pride, his dignity than they already claimed with each breath he drew. Raoul slipped his legs over the edge of his mattress and glared at the gas lamps glowing above the bed. "I cannot even sleep in the dark any more," he groused. "Am I child or a man?" Raoul watched the shadows dancing on the wall, studying them as he sought an answer he was not sure he wanted. Raoul was not sure of anything he wanted anymore. He no longer knew who he was, where he fit in, what he wanted out of his life. He no longer trusted his judgement. He no longer trusted the motives and emotions of those about him. Raoul no longer trusted life. "One thing I can trust," he said softly as he rose to his feet, moving slowly across his bedroom, into the hall and through the door beyond, closing it quietly behind him.

Christine hummed lightly, a happy sound as the shades of her dream drew into focus, clarity coming forth, bringing with it the images that always brought a smile to her lips, a song to her heart. She watched from just beyond the shadows as her husband bent over a cradle swathed in glowing white lace. The smile grew on her face as Raoul straightened, a small bundle wrapped in white cradled carefully in his arms. Christine stayed in the shadows and watched as a tiny hand reached upward and Raoul bent over, kissing it gently. The tears in her eyes began to blur the vision in front of her and Christine reached up to wipe them away. As she lowered her hands, Christine watched the image before her change, her smile growing broader, a song escaping her lips. Raoul waltzed around holding onto the hands of small girl who stood on the top of his shoes. The little girl looked up at Raoul, her gaze just as adoring as his own. Christine watched as the notes she sang drifted off into the unknown, taking with them the couple who waltzed before her eyes. She listened as the music grew from her simple melody into a richly orchestrated symphony. And as rich as the music was, it could not match the richness of her dreams. Christine watched as husband and daughter moved through the years, growing, changing, yet always constant in their adoration of each other. She watched and knew. She knew that they did not need her, that they had long ago left her behind in the shadows. Christine raised a single hand to her lips and blew a kiss at the man on whose arm clung a blonde angel dressed in a white wedding gown. Christine watched them silently, finally turning her back on them and retreating into a lonely past she understood. "Goodbye," she whispered in her sleep and turned her head on her pillow, a single hand going to rest over her child.

"What do you dream about?" Raoul asked as he stood at the end of his wife's bed. A sad look crossed his face. "Do you yet dream about me?"

Even as two people struggled to hold onto individual dreams, even as one couple fought to hold onto shared dreams, two other individuals, another couple clung to each other. They clung to their own dreams, the dreams they willingly shared with the other. They clung to their shared dreams, to shared hopes, to the plans they made together. They clung to each other beneath the down comforter, spooned together, her back to his chest, his arms wrapped about her. He had his head buried in her soft hair. She moved her head so that she could feel his breath on her ear. Their fingers were intertwined and their hands rested gently over her abdomen, carefully protecting their future beneath a loving touch. She sighed in her sleep as scattered images of a happy past whirled by in swirling skirts of colorful cotton. She felt something draw her close as a strong shape moved into her life, turning her head, swelling her heart, promising a life of warmth and safety. Her sighs were heard by the man who gave her that warmth and safety. He matched her sigh for sigh, memory for memory and dream for dream. He remembered the beautiful blonde dancing like a goddess across the stage. He dreamed of all the time he pursued her, wearing her down, giving her no quarter to back away. He remembered her brilliant smile the day she finally gave in even as he knew she just did it so he would stop chasing her. Val drew his wife close as he walked in the mist between sleep and wakefulness. "Meg," he whispered in her ear, drifting back to sleep as he heard her whisper back, "Val".

Madame Giry's dreams also turned toward the future. The dreams of the past, of a strong man with an easy laugh and gentle arms had begun to fade. She had watched as the man she had held onto through so many years began to disappear in the face of the future for which they had planned. She dreamed of him raising a hand in farewell as he walked into her past. She had watched him disappear and turned around to face her daughter, watching as Meg held out a hand, drawing Val forth. She had watched as the young couple danced through a world full of open meadows full of bright sunshine. She had smiled her blessing upon them, as Val took Meg's hand and turned her daughter into a princess. Now the princess was going to grace the prince with a child and Madame Giry dreamed of a small boy. She dreamed a small blonde-haired boy dressed in a sailor suit, smiling up at her as they sailed boats on a lake in a park. She dreamed of a little boy who chattered and laughed and lit her world with his smile. He would chase away the dark shadows from her life. He would be the small gift that would take the sorrow and the care from her world and renew her faith in the world. Once that small hand was placed in her own, once that sweet little face smiled up at her, no longer would she have to fear the future, no longer would she search the shadows for what they held. She would finally be free of the cares of a lifetime. She would finally be free to resume a life she had put on hold for all those about her – all of them.

And as Madame Giry dreamed of a reclaiming a life, one of the people who had haunted her dreams and waking hours for so many years, was awake, unwilling to close his eyes for fear of what his mind would tell him. He did not want to know what sordid images sleep would draw forth from an unguarded sub-conscience. He did not want to know for he all ready knew. He knew the living, breathing shadows that haunted him day and night. He knew the misshapen faces that leered at him, loomed over him even as they thought they had beaten him into submission. He knew the beautiful face full of pity that had released him from the nightmare into which he had been tossed. He knew the gentle brown eyes that had pulled him in, offering him everything he had ever desired. They had offered him a chance to place himself before the world from the safety of the shadows he had wrapped about himself. He had watched as those eyes had changed, maturing. He had watched as the admiration for teacher had changed to the love that he had wanted to see. And he watched, realizing that they love he had sought was not not the love that she offered. Erik lifted a hand to rest against the pouch he now carried next to his heart, seeing in his mind's eye brown eyes fade away to silver-gray. He remembered the glitter of stars in those eyes that had gradually faded into an icy frost, forcing his own eyes to remain open when they wanted to close. He turned on the piano bench, lifting the cover, placing a single hand on the keys beneath, one hand remaining over the music that somehow managed to warm the chilled heart beneath. "Help me to remember," he breathed as fingers began to move over the keys in a soft melody.

The melody of Erik's music drifted unobserved through a slight crack in a garret window. It was picked up in the wake of the weather that moved past. It found itself entangled in the turbulent remnants of heavy gray clouds. Notes brought forth from the depths of a dying heart fought to remain together as they were tossed about like the boats harbored far below, bouncing and bobbing upon storm-lashed waters. The wild winds caught up the melody as they moved the storm across the Channel, over the coastal landscape of England, the huge inland cities, the country towns and toward the open Atlantic. They preserved the lightness of a lullaby – a life - that was only beginning to be realized. The winds whispered the melody forward, weaving it through the soft flakes that fell to the earth. As the flakes fell, hitting the warmer air beneath, some of them melted away into unwept tears, freeing their melody to the sleeping world. The notes found their way through the nearly invisible crevices of ancient stone buildings and into the minds of those who rested within those walls.

Tallis frowned in her sleep as an unseen melody began to dance through the misty reaches of her mind. She rolled over, pulling a pillow close to her chest, drawing her knees upward. She moaned lightly as the melody in her mind began to grow stronger, wrapping her in its embrace. As small black notes with weaving tails began to dance about her, Tallis allowed them to twirl her around and around, a smile growing on her face. In their movement, their touch upon her body, she could feel another touch. She could feel the incredible strength hidden just below the surface of her dancing partners. She could hear the sad longing beneath their outward gaiety. Yet Tallis laughed along with the melody, her feet dancing above a world she could not see. She closed her eyes and surrendered to the power that was drawing her in, subtly gaining control. Suddenly Tallis found herself in the midst of a swirling maelstrom, tumbled about like a rag doll thrown about in a fit of pique. Her legs began to move restlessly beneath the down comforter as the struggle for freedom continued in her mind. Her hands pulled at the pillow they held even as her hands pulled at the notes that were attacking her from all sides. And then Tallis was screaming, sitting bolt upright in her bed, as the notes broke away and she fell and fell through an interminable blackness until she landed in something strong and soft and safe. Her eyes opened as she was released in her dream, from her dream and a single word escaped her lips in a pained gasp. "Erik," she cried and buried her face in her hands, tears slipping through shaking hands.

What Tallis could did not know, could she could not see was the man who stood just beyond her closed bedroom door. A look of worried sorrow colored Serge's handsome features as he rested a single hand against Tallis' door. Her cries of anguish had been waking him for nearly the last week but he was too much of a gentleman to intrude upon a lady's private sorrow. So with each call that woke him from a slumber haunted by his own fears and grief, Serge would walk down the hall and wait at the edge of Tallis' private pain. He would stand by and listen as she cried for all that had been, all that might have been and the shattered pieces of what remained. He constantly fought down the urge to knock upon that door and go in to shake some sense into this woman who had come all unexpected and unbidden into his life. Serge had discovered a familiar soul within Tallis, a soul that understood his own pain and confusion, his own sighs and longings. Yet he had found the courage to face the emotions that rolled about in the tempest of his soul. He had found the resolve to demand his future his happiness and the peace to accept whatever it was that would come. As Serge listened to lessening of the cries from the other side of the closed door, he knew he would have happily given Tallis some of his own resolute peace if she would only relent and follow where her heart wished to lead her. He knew she would never be happy, be the woman he had first met, the friend he was growing to value, unless she could settle her restless, seeking spirit. Serge heard stirrings from beyond the closed door and he turned on his heel, moving quietly down the hall and back to his own room, leaving Tallis to her personal thoughts and private grief.

And as the cold night began to fade away into the pink dawn, it was private thoughts that haunted the waking moments of two very different people.

Chief Inspector Pichette stood at the vanity in the bathroom of his hotel room, staring at the reflection in the mirror. In the unshaved face and the shadowed eyes that stared back at him, Robert could see a man who had spent a lifetime in service to his fellow man, burying his own needs beneath the needs of others. He had wanted to make a difference in the world, to change but one life for the better. Now, as he thought upon the events that had brought him to this hotel in the countryside beyond Lyon, Robert wondered if he had spent a lifetime being a slave to his foolish wishes. What had he accomplished over the last five months? Had he and those he trusted done anything correctly? Had any of them even made any difference? He knew that the young man's family did not blame him for the mistakes made, the opportunities missed. He knew that the greater powers beyond the countryside in Paris did not hold him responsible and were – in fact – trusting that he would see justice done. Yet, Robert blamed himself, held himself responsible. He sighed and ran a hand over his face, the rough stubble upon his cheeks. He was getting old; perhaps too told to continue on in such a job. Perhaps it was time to retire, to hand his baton to a new generation of inspector. Perhaps it was time to listen to his wife's wishes to spend more time with her and their children. Robert nodded; he did miss her company and often wondered what kind of people his children were becoming. Still, the thought crossed his mind as his lips compressed into a fine line, there were still people in whose lives he could make a difference. And that was what would keep him strong, allow him to face another day.

Even as Chief Inspector Robert Pichette looked at his reflection in the mirror, drawing strength and renewing his resolve to make a difference to his fellow man, another person was also awake. This person also longed to make a difference in the lives of those who moved in and out of the sphere of its existence. But the difference this person wished to make was the polar opposite of the difference Robert Pichette wished to make. While the Chief Inspector longed to make just one life better, to show one person that there was a hope beyond that which they imagined, this person longed to take that same hope and destroy it. This person longed to take the promise of the future and crush it beneath a heavy foot. This person longed to release the pain that had pounded at the fragile walls of sanity for years uncounted and reclaim an elusive peace. This person looked about and coveted what was before its eyes. This person knew that if a simple change could made in one life, the peace for which it longed would return. This person knew that if the sorrow that overwhelmed its life could be transferred to another, then the pain would stop and life could resume. This person knew that if such a thing could be accomplished, the years of accumulated sorrow and disappointment would be lifted from shoulders that could no longer bear the burden. This person knew that freedom would follow such actions. This person knew it as surely as a mind knew how to draw breath. As this person arose from a night of troubled dreams to look out upon the chilled, snow-covered morning, a smile turned up frowning lips and a mind knew just how to accomplish that which it desired.

"Nearly time," whispered words slipped from between those smiling lips. "Nearly time."


	68. Chapter 68

**Chapter Summary:** Henri tries his best to warn both Raoul and Christine without breaking the persona he has adopted. Philippe, Xavier and Monique wonder about the changes that have come over Henri and Didier. Madame Giry finds herself praying for Erik and Tallis. Tallis begins to find herself regretting her choice. And Erik finishes his lullaby.

CHAPTER SIXTY EIGHT

Henri gave a last look to himself in the full-length mirror and nodded his head. The tight riding pants, the heavy wool blazer, the brown boots all made him look the part. He looked like he had not a care in the world as he prepared to face the day. He looked as if he were ready to walk out the door and laugh at the previous night's snowfall. He looked as if he were ready to laugh in the face of the cruel world that waited just beyond the elegant warmth of Chagny.

"And I know just how cruel it can be," Henri sighed as he turned to pick up the riding gloves that rested casually atop the dresser. He walked to the door of his room and opened it. "Too bad no one else in this family does," he whispered to himself, a frown on his face that quickly disappeared as he walked down the hallway. He stopped before one door. _"Well, perhaps one other,"_ Henri thought as he rapped his knuckles lightly upon the polished wood before flinging the door open. "Good morning!" Henri sang out as he entered the room, the hand holding his gloves tapping lightly against his thigh.

"What do you want?" Raoul wondered as he turned around from where he leaned against his own dresser for support.

Henri strolled casually across the room, perching himself on the edge of the same dresser, one leg beginning to swing lightly back and forth. "I just came in to wish my cousin a good start to the day," Henri began.

"You did not need to shout it," Raoul told him.

Henri watched as Raoul struggled to stand upright, fighting back the urge to help him, holding tightly to the persona he would need to present to the world. "My, my, my," Henri said, hoping he remembered how to smirk. "Someone certainly arose on the wrong side of the bed this morning." He watched as Raoul slowly walked the short distance between the dresser and the bed, reaching out to the bed poster for support as he closed the last few steps before turning to sit on the mattress.

"Is there a right side?" Raoul asked as he raised his eyes to his cousin. "I seem to have forgotten that small detail over these last months."

The smirk rapidly disappeared from Henri's face as he stared at his cousin, at the fear and bitterness with which Henri was all too familiar, emotions he had never thought to see in Raoul. But as rapidly as the smirk had disappeared, it was replaced with a smile that Henri hoped did not appear to be forced. He slowly stood and sauntered over to where his cousin sat as the gloves in his hand continued to tap against his thigh. Henri casually flung the gloves on the bed and sat beside Raoul. "I thought that this was the right side of the bed," Henri replied and nodded over his shoulder, "and that was the left side of the bed."

Raoul was silent for a moment before a small laugh escaped his lips. "You have not changed," he said. "You can still manage a wise remark for everything." He turned to look at his cousin. "Thank you for that."

"I do try," Henri sighed. "I really do try."

"I am glad someone does," Raoul told Henri. "I just wish to be treated like a normal person, that is all I want. Is that asking so much?"

"No," Henri admitted and then winked at his cousin. "But – then again – I am known as the black sheep of this family and I just do not know any better."

There was a moment of awkward silence as Henri turned his head. He felt Raoul watching him with curious eyes and Henri fought back the urge to gnaw on his bottom lip; Henri knew that Raoul was aware of something different about him, that something had changed since that moment of discovery in the red light of the crypt. If only he could get past Raoul – the one person in the family who truly knew him, he would be able to fool everyone else.

"So where are you going this morning?" Henri heard Raoul wonder; it was a question he could answer.

"Didier and I had planned to go riding …"

"Even in the snow that has fallen?"

Henri nodded his head and finally turned to look at Raoul. "Oh, most certainly! A brisk gallop through snow-covered fields and then the rest of the day spent in the warm comfort of an inn." He wiggled his eyebrows. "Not to mention the warm comfort a supple barmaid. Or two."

Raoul raised a single hand to his forehead as he laughed. "You really have not changed, have you?" The hand was lowered and the amusement on Raoul's face was replaced by a wistful longing. "How I wish I was going with you. I am growing tired of constantly being in prison." His head turned toward the bright morning just beyond the windows. "No matter how elegant and comfortable the cell may be."

"We do not keep you in this room for our amusement," Henri said softly.

"Some part of me knows that." A heavy sigh moved Raoul's shoulders. "At least you differ from … at least your motivations are different." He turned back toward Henri. "Although I wonder about my wife's motivations. I think she finds far too much enjoyment in protecting me as if I were our child."

Raoul's words cut through Henri's resolve and heart and he leaned over slightly, his head next to Raoul's. "Accept her protection for the treasured gift that is," he whispered before standing, reaching for his gloves.

Henri's remarks raised a rather startled reaction from his cousin. "What do you know that you are not telling me?"

Henri fixed a huge smile on his face as he looked at Raoul. "I know a great many things that I have not told anyone. What would you like to know? How to properly sit a barmaid upon your knee so that …" Henri bit the tip of a finger. "No, that would not do; you are married."

"What I want to know is the truth! I want someone in this house to tell me the truth," Raoul breathed. "Just the truth. About something. About anything!"

"Then know this," Henri began and leaned over to tap his riding gloves lightly upon Raoul's uninjured leg. "The truth is," he lowered his voice, whispering so that only Raoul could hear, "the only person you can trust is your wife. And as much as she wishes to protect you, you must find the strength to protect her and your child." Henri straightened, watching Raoul's face the entire time. He watched as stunned shock turned to puzzlement. He watched as Raoul's eyes studied his face, reaching beyond his own eyes and into his soul. Henri watched as the puzzlement on Raoul's face slowly turned to a dawning knowledge.

"Thank you," Raoul finally said, thoughts racing behind his clear gaze. "For everything," he finished with a nod.

Henri returned the nod with a slight inclination of his head and then swept of the room, leaving his cousin to think upon the whispered truths that had slipped cautiously from his lips. As he approached the top of the staircase, Henri encountered Christine and Marie, Marie carrying a breakfast tray. "Madame," Henri said as he bowed slightly from the waist, his heart beginning to break as he rose and took note of the slightly suspicious look that appeared in Christine's eyes.

"It will be all right, Marie," Henri heard her whisper. "Take that to my husband's room and I shall be with you in a moment."

Henri kept his composure as Marie moved past, eyeing him with a strange mixture of admiration and distrust. He adjusted his smile as he turned back to look at Christine. "And how are you this lovely morning?" He nodded at the bulge beneath her gown. "How is the little one?"

"We are both fine," Christine said, her tone of voice even and pleasant. "Thank you for asking. Have you been to see Raoul this morning?"

"I have. I have," Henri assured her. "He was rather put-out that he could not come riding with Didier and I."

"I promise I will have him well enough to ride out with you by the time the spring flowers are in bloom," Christine replied, a slight smile on her face. "And I saw Didier arrive with Monique and Xavier but a few moments ago."

"Well done on both counts!" Henri said with a boisterous laugh as he moved aside to let Christine pass. As she climbed the last two stairs, standing at the very edge of the upstairs hallway, Henri took his own life in his hands again and laid a hand upon Christine's arm, his heart swelling as she did not flinch or pull away. "Trust no one but your husband," he whispered, hoping his gaze was able to speak what was in his heart as Christine turned wide eyes to him. "He needs your protection and you need his." Henri nodded toward the child Christine carried. "And that baby needs all the protection you and her father can give." He lifted his head and took back his hand. "I shall see you later!" Henri called out, his voice once again boisterous and full of _bonhomie_ as he sauntered down the grand staircase leaving a rather stunned Christine in his wake.

At the bottom of the staircase, Henri found Didier lounging against the wall of the front entry. Didier was studying the riding gloves he held with a careless nonchalance. Henri's eyes strayed around the large entry foyer and also noticed Philippe standing with Monique and Xavier, their voices low, their conversation animated. As he continued to gaze about, Henri caught Didier's eye and the two friends exchanged nods that were almost imperceptible. They knew what they expected from each other, what the world expected from them. And they knew just how dangerous a game it was they were playing.

"What a lovely sight to see on such a morning!" Henri said in a very loud voice as he jumped off the last two stairs and moved over to where Philippe stood with his friends. Henri grabbed Monique in a bear hug, kissing her soundly on the cheek. "You smell like fresh snow," he said as he drew back. He eyed Monique's fur-lined cloak with appreciation. "I bet that set Xavier back a few sous."

"Henri!" Philippe's tone of voice was amazed.

"At least he remembered the French coinage," Didier called out as he straightened his posture, his expression one of complete innocence. "That is proof that he can be taught to be civilized." He absently waved a hand in the air. "Ha'penny this, quid that, bob the other." Didier sighed. "It is all so common."

Henri placed a hand over his heart. "I am wounded, my good sir! Utterly and mortally wounded!"

Philippe fixed his young cousin with a look of resigned despair. "Henri …" he began and was interrupted by Didier.

"Oh, what have I done?" Didier wondered as he approached the small group, stopping in front of Henri and bowing from the waist. "What may I do to regain favor in your eyes?"

"What are the two of you doing?" Xavier wondered, waiting in vain for answer.

Henri nibbled at the tip of a fingernail, his eyes lidded, unable and unwilling to meet those of the man standing before him. "What gallant and grand gesture can you do? Hmm ..." Henri's voice trailed off and he stood silently for a moment before raising his head, a huge smile on his face. "If you buy the first round, I shall consider you forgiven."

Didier laughed and threw his arm around Henri's shoulder. "I shall buy the first several rounds!" He said as he innocently guided Henri toward the front door.

"Henri …" Philippe tried and found a hand on his arm; he looked to see Monique shaking her head.

Henri turned to look over his shoulder. "Do not be such on old maid, Philippe!" A wide grin split his face. "We shall return in time to regale everyone over supper with the tales of our exploits."

Henri and Didier disappeared through the front door before they could be stopped. They pulled their gloves on as they nearly ran down the wet stairs to the horses that waited at the bottom, snorting their impatience into the cold morning air.

"Get me out of here," Henri muttered in disgust as he grabbed the reins of his mount.

"With pleasure," Didier replied as he lifted himself into the saddle.

The two young men were perfectly aware of the eyes that studied their backs as they rode away from Chagny. They were also perfectly aware of the words that were being said behind those backs.

"What has happened to them?" Philippe wondered as he turned from the window, allowing the drape to fall back into place.

Xavier shrugged. "I wish I knew," he said. "One moment they are acting as if they are completely out of their minds and the next they are acting like the adults we know they can be and the next they are back to being utterly foolish little boys." He looked at Philippe. "Were we ever like that?"

"I sincerely hope not!" Philippe replied with a wry, knowing smile on his face.

"You are both such old maids!" Monique told them with a sigh as she crossed her arms about her waist, keeping a straight face as the two men turned toward her. "Honestly! I would think you would be happy to see Henri and Didier out and about again, carousing, flirting and generally being young." She shook her head at them. "It has been so very long since they could do such things. Let them have their restored freedom."

Xavier leaned forward, taking his wife's hands in his own, unfolding her arms and kissing her lightly on the cheek. "You have always been the wise one, my dear," he said as he drew back, still holding to Monique's hands. "You give lie to the prevailing wisdom that women are the less intelligent sex."

"Thank you for the compliment," Monique said softly, a small smile on her face.

Philippe cleared his throat. "Before this becomes entirely too maudlin," he began, "let us retire to the dining room." He smiled at the two sets of eyes that turned toward him. "My sisters are there and are anxious to see you." Philippe laughed slightly. "And then Monique and Desiree and Charlotte can all take turns enlightening us about the superiority of the female sex."

Monique nodded at Philippe. "And we shall do so with great pleasure!"

Xavier took his wife's arm. "What of the other young people?" he wondered as they began to walk down the hall that led to the dining room.

"Meg and Val went to the village this morning," Philippe told them. "They wished to send telegrams to their respective mothers. I believe they were also planning on breakfasting at the inn and doing a small bit of shopping."

"Raoul and Christine?" Monique wondered.

"Upstairs," Philippe replied. "Hopefully being civil to each other."

"Are they still having difficulties?" Xavier asked. "Even after everything that they have been through? You would think they would be ecstatically happy."

"One would think." Philippe shook his head. "I have given up trying to understand what it is that draws and holds them together." He paused with his hands on the doors to the dining room and raised his gaze toward the ceiling. "I only hope it is enough."

Hope – and all the possibilities that blossomed forth from Pandora's forgotten emotion – was also on the mind of the woman who sat quietly at her breakfast table reading the morning's mail. Varied emotions passed over her eyes as she read and re-read the letter held in her hands. She nodded and sighed. She shook her head and frowned. She reached for the cup of lukewarm tea at her side, sipping it and tasting nothing. She could feel her heart breaking with each and every word she read. She put the letter down next to her half-empty plate and rose to her feet. She walked to the windows on the other side of the room, pulling back the drape, feeling the cold of a November morning radiating inward. She gazed out over her snow-covered front lawn and wondered if the same snow had covered England as well as France.

"Oh, Tallis," Antoinette sighed to herself. "What is to become of you?"

The letter she had just finished reading spoke of all the new challenges that faced her friend. It spoke of the lovely home whose charge she been given. It told of the equally lovely estate cottage that she had been given. Antoinette had read between the lines, knowing the unspoken emotions that motivated all that her friend now did and knew that the cottage was too large for one person alone. She read of the happiness of reconnecting with distant relations and could see the longing to reconnect with that which had been left behind. She read of the experience of rediscovering the simple joys of youth that had been set aside for adulthood and could see the wish to share the memories with someone else, to let them experience the new and the wonderful.

Antoinette shook her head sadly. "I cannot do this any longer," she said to herself and turned back to the table. She settled back into her chair, frowning at the cold tea before picking up another letter. Antoinette's frown turned into a small smile at the sight of her daughter's lovely script and she briefly closed her eyes. "I do not have the strength anymore," she prayed to an unseen presence. "I turn them over to You." Thin fingers caressed the letter she held. "I only wish to spend my time in peace and happiness. Do what I cannot – guide them back to each other," Antoinette finished and opened her eyes, turning them to the letter she held, the smile returning to her face.

There was no smile on the face of the young woman whose letter had prompted the prayer to be whispered from Antoinette's lips.

Tallis walked out the back door of Trevinny and blinked, turning her head aside as a rush of cold air borne forth from the open moors slapped at her face. Her hands reached up from beneath the cloak she wore to pull the hood over her head, one hand holding on the edges of the hood so that it would not blow off. The other hand Tallis slipped back beneath her cloak, gripping to the seams, holding it closed and enjoying the warmth the heavy wool offered against the harsh winds. Tallis walked slowly through the wind-swept gardens, watching the snow begin to melt beneath the temperate breezes that blew from the ocean she could hear pounding in the distance. Her lips pursed into a thin, tight line as Tallis thought that the cold of the morning and the pounding of the ocean matched the coldness and pounding of her own heart.

The previous night had seen little sleep found and Tallis was beginning to feel the effects that no rest placed upon her body. She felt as if she were moving in a heavy fog, unable to see anything about her, her limbs weighed down and unresponsive. Tallis found herself unable to put two thoughts together, unable to utter two coherent words in the same sentence. She found herself weary during the day, longing to sit down and rest for a but the moment her eyes closed, they would jump open, her mind unwilling to face the consequences of her choice. The nights were far worse as exhaustion claimed her body, the guards about her mind fading away, allowing forbidden, unwanted images to seep through. It was then, in the dark, quiet of the night, that Tallis could feel her resolve and self-respect slowly fading away. It was then that she had to fight the urge to run for the nearest train or boat – any conveyance that would allow her to find her way back to France. It was then that her regrets turned into insurmountable obstacles. It was then that she wished she could find a way past stupid promises and wounded pride.

While she was struggling to think, to find a way beyond the morass in which she found herself, Tallis' feet had guided her to stand before the estate cottage that she could call her own. She stared it for a moment, taking two steps forward, her hand beginning to reach for the door. Then Tallis stopped in her tracks, knowing that the inside of the huge cottage was just as cold as the inside of her heart. She knew that there would be no cheery fire blazing in the hearth, no sound of magical notes weaving their way from room to room, no hesitant smile to greet her as she stepped across the threshold. Tallis turned her back on the cottage and walked toward the edge of the cliff overlooking the ocean. She stared down at the foamy surf, the gray waves that jumped up and over jagged rocks, desperately trying to reach the freedom upon which she stood while Tallis longed to find the freedom the waves offered. She let her hands open, feeling the ache in tiny muscles as they straightened, her hood slipping from her head, her cloak flying open, fluttering behind her.

"Oh God, Erik," Tallis breathed, as the strong winds buffeted her still figure and her hands went over face as she sought in vain to hide herself from the world.

And the man who was the cause of so much misery for Tallis had also been finding sleep elusive in the days since she had left. Yet, unlike Tallis, Erik took the silent, dark times when he could not sleep and turned them outward. He looked beyond himself, listening to the voices that moved just below the silence, the voices he had been hearing all his life. He took what the voices told him and transcribed it to paper. It was a long and laborious process for the voices did not always speak to him. There were nights when Erik found the silence utterly deafening and those were the times when he would pace aimlessly back and forth across his small garret. He would pull at his hair, slap his hands over and over against his ears, grateful for the noise of the slaps, the pain they brought forth for it let him know some small part of him was still alive.

Now, as the morning sun began to peak through the closed draperies and into the darkness that wrapped him so tightly, Erik's pen gave a last scratch to the paper that rested on the piano before him. Erik's hand moved away, absently dropping the pen to the floor as he studied the notes before him. He could hear the music singing in his head, drowning out the bleak silence surrounding him. As he closed his eyes, Erik placed his hands over the keyboard, fingers beginning to move of their own accord, knowing the music that played in the heart. In the softness of the cradlesong that was coaxed from beneath loving fingers, Erik could hear the far-off laughter of tiny promises left unfulfilled. In the gentle rocking motion from stanza to stanza, Erik could feel the easy movement of the woman in his arms as they danced beneath a moonlit sky. In the beautiful simplicity of a song written to welcome a new life into the world, a part of Erik remembered the joy of discovering all the beautiful simplicity that life had begun to offer him. And in the closing notes, the dying music that faded into the stillness, Erik could feel all the tiny promises, the laughter, the beautiful simplicity that was the woman he had loved so fiercely fade away as well, taking his heart and soul – his very humanity – with them.

Erik lifted his hands from the keyboard and gave a final once over to the music he had written for the baby that Val and Meg were expecting. He placed his hands upon his knees and nodded once.

"It is over," he said without emotion.


	69. Chapter 69

**Chapter Summary:** Christine and Raoul continue to struggle with the aftermath of what has happened. In Grenoble, Inspector Etienne Menard finds himself summoned by Francois Amerlaine. Erik delivers a lullaby to Antoinette. The bonds of a friendship seemingly reach an end. And somewhere the reading of a Tarot deck brings someone much delight.

_**Author's Notes:** Plaster-of-Paris casts became common around the year 1852 and they were actually developed in Belgium and not France. I am using the readings for the Rider-Waite Tarot deck. And I think I will give a _**Tissue Issue**_ warning for this chapter as it gets a bit weepy near the end._

CHAPTER SIXTY NINE

Christine sat in the second floor drawing room at Chagny surrounded by balls of tangled yarn. They were stuck in the crevasses of the loveseat in which she sat. They were scattered on the floor about her feet. Two of the balls had made good their escape across the Persian rug, trailing long strings in their wake. Yet Christine paid no heed to the mess about her, so intent was she on the yarn and small needle in her hand. Her finely arched brows were creased into a frown and the pink tip of her tongue peaked out from between turned down lips. Fingers that could easily ply a needle between satin and lace found themselves at a loss as to how to manipulate the crochet hook to form the misbehaving yarn into a blanket for her child. Christine's fingers stopped as she intently studied what they held. Then with a loud burst of laughter Christine threw yarn and hook onto the floor.

"I give up," she managed between laughs. "I just … I just … I give up." A hand reached for her child as the laughter softened into giggles. "I shall never be able to make you a blanket. You shall just have to be content to receive them as gifts."

"Or she could have one that her father used," a voice interrupted.

Christine looked up, amazement on her face, to see Raoul standing in the doorway, leaning against it for support. "How long have you been there?" she wondered as she began to push herself up from the loveseat. Christine watched as Raoul shook his head.

"No," he told her. "I need to do this by myself."

Christine eased herself back to the loveseat cushions and tried to maintain an outward composure as she watched her husband walk across the small distance from the doorway to her side. She had to fight back the urge to go to him, to help as she saw Raoul reach for pieces of furniture as support. Christine looked down and tossed the remaining balls of yarn to the floor, sending them rolling in every direction, careful to keep them from Raoul's path. She did not wish to watch her husband's slow faltering progress and when she finally raised her eyes, Raoul was but steps from where she sat. Christine lovingly patted the cushion beside her and gave her husband a huge smile as Raoul finally sat down. She reached for his hand and fixed her smile in place as she felt the trembling in the hand she held and saw the sweat on Raoul's face from the energy he had expended.

"That was more of an effort than I had thought," Raoul breathed as he leaned back against the loveseat.

"You sneaked out of your room and came all the way down the hall without anyone seeing you?" Christine wondered.

"I am not an invalid or a child," Raoul responded.

Christine bit her tongue at her husband's slightly abrasive response. "I did not say that you were," she began and her lips curled into a slight smile as she felt the fingers in her hand intertwine with her own. "I was going to say how delighted I was that you did not get caught." She sighed and winked at Raoul. "Now we can hide here and no one will think to look for us in such a place." Christine leaned over and placed a kiss on Raoul's cheek.

Raoul still breathed heavily from his small journey but he managed to return Christine's smile. "You almost make us sound like a couple of children sneaking away from their parents."

"Are we not?" Christine asked and hummed merrily as Raoul placed his free hand over their child, gently stroking the movements that rolled taut flesh and soft satin. "She likes that," Christine said softly, her eyes partly closing. "I used to talk to her about your touch, how strong your arms were, how gentle your hands…" Her eyes snapped open as Raoul withdrew his hand, turning his head from her. "What did I say wrong?" Christine worried, unable to hear the words that echoed in her husband's head.

_"We would not want you to lose circulation in these pretty hands." He leaned forward, tightening his grip on the hand he held. "What would that lovely wife of yours do if anything were to happen to these hands?" Nico asked softly in Raoul's ear. "How would you be able to touch her? How would you be able to make her scream your name?"_

Christine watched as Raoul's already pale complexion paled even further as he listened to the voices in his head, the whispered words that only he had heard

_"And if you cannot touch her, I will. And I will make her scream far more than my name. I will make her scream for mercy."_

"Raoul?" Christine ventured in a gentle tone.

"Would you have remarried, Christine?" Raoul asked as he opened his eyes, unwilling to face the memory of Nico's words and the action that followed, willing to instead face a different fear. He turned to look at his wife. "If he had been free would you have married him? Would you have let someone else raise my child? Would there have been someone else my child would have called 'Papa'?"

Christine could feel a familiar pain begin in her side even as she felt her heart breaking. "No, no, no and no." Christine lifted up the hand to which Raoul still held, the one that gleamed with her wedding bands. "I promised to be faithful to you on the day we were joined together in the eyes of God and I have never broken that promise." She took back the hand Raoul had removed and once again placed it over their child. "And this is your baby," she said emphatically. "It has always been your baby. It shall always be your baby." Christine saw a look of resigned disgust cross her husband's face.

"You could have married anyone," Raoul groused. "You thought I was dead. What was stopping you?" Raoul's eyes narrowed. "Guilt, perhaps?"

"Yes, in some part," Christine freely admitted. "I have told you before that I felt guilty for what happened. I still feel guilty for what was done to you. I shall feel guilty till the day I die and I am sure that guilt will deny me entrance into Heaven. Yet I cannot change what was done much as I would wish it." She took her free hand and gently stroked her husband's cheek. "But there are times when I wish I could take your pain."

Raoul suddenly sat upright. "No, you do not!" he said in a forceful tone of voice. "I would never wish that on anyone! Not even him!" Raoul took back his hands and grabbed Christine's upper arms, shaking her slightly. "You have no idea of the constant burning ache day in and day out! You have no idea of what pain is like!"

"I am looking at it this very moment," Christine nearly whispered. Suddenly the hands that gripped her so tightly were released and trembling arms wrapped themselves about her, a head going to bury itself in the crook of her neck.

"What is happening to me?" Raoul cried. "Dear God, what is happening to me?"

Christine looked down at her husband, watching as he turned his head so that he could look at her.

"All I wanted was to come home," Raoul continued. "All I wanted was to hold you again and now that I can, all I keep doing is pushing you away. What is wrong with me?"

Christine ignored the pain that burned down her entire side as she drew her husband's head back to her shoulder. "I do not have an answer for you," she said as she placed a kiss against Raoul's head before resting her own head lightly against his. "But I know that I love you, that this baby loves you and that we will do whatever must be done to bring you back to us." She sighed and remembered Henri's cryptic words. "You must find it within yourself to trust me again. Just a little."

"I am trying, Christine," Raoul told her, "and I do love you." He matched her sigh. "God, how I love you."

One of the men who had participated in abusing Raoul, warping his thoughts and taking away the life he had known, nervously drummed his fingers against the chair to which he was manacled. He looked around himself, at the windowless room with the barest of furnishings in which he found himself and grimaced. He looked down at the manacles about his wrists, waist and one leg, the other leg bound by a plaster cast that needed no chains and laughed.

"What could you possibly find so amusing?" Inspector Etienne Menard wondered as he entered the dark room, pausing by the table and looking down at his prisoner.

Francois Amerlaine tried to raise his manacled hands in vain and laughed again. "Why the need for such things?" He looked down at the leg encased in plaster and lifted his head once again. "Where am I going to go?"

Etienne kept his calm demeanor as he took the chair on the opposite side of the table. "Why the need?" he repeated. "You do not like being manacled and unable to move?" He could not fight the slight smirk that curled his lips. "How much worse was it for the man you abducted and kept manacled for months?" At the inspector's words, some of the bravado Francois projected fled and he visibly deflated; Etienne fought down the urge to rejoice at Francois' reaction. "Now," he continued, "you expressed a desire to speak with me." He leaned back slightly in his chair. "I am listening." He watched as Francois licked his lips, his eyes darting from side to side.

"Does the promise to keep me here in Lyon still hold?" Francois asked. "I need to know that before I utter a single word. I need to know that what I will tell you will not reach certain ears. That I will be safe if I say what little I know."

"You are going to hang for the murder of Edouard Durant so I find it rather incomprehensible that you should fear what might befall you if it is known you were holding speech with me."

Francois leaned forward, struggling against that which physically held him back. "You do not know what those men … what Nico is capable of doing! I do! You think I want to face that? I would rather the hangman's noose than anything that sick bastard could do!"

Etienne raised an eyebrow. "And what choice did the Vicomte have?" There was no answer as Francois stopped his struggling. Etienne reached down, removing his pocket watch and looking at it. "I am a busy man," he said as he raised his eyes. "If you have brought me in here merely for your own amusement …"

"No," Francois shook his head sadly. "No; I do know things, things that must be said." He sighed. "I know I am to hang and I do not wish to take my regrets into damnation with me. I wish to make some kind of amends for what happened to Edouard." Francois squared his shoulders. "He knew nothing of what was to happen to him. Edouard only thought we were taking the Vicomte until the ransom could be paid. He had no idea why I asked him to join us."

"That settles lingering doubts about why Durant was involved in this nefarious scheme," Etienne replied, carefully watching the emotions that played across the head that Francois bowed in a useless attempt to avoid being seen. "What else is there?" he asked cautiously.

"Louis was not in control of what happened to the Vicomte," Francois replied in a quiet voice and raised his head. "He never was."

Etienne leaned forward, toward his prisoner. "You interest me greatly," he breathed. "Please, continue."

An hour later, Inspector Etienne Menard walked silently from the interrogation room, his gaze distant and distracted. He walked across the floor full of junior officers, not heeding their inquiring looks, instead concentrating upon the new found knowledge that raced through his thoughts. "You," he addressed a young man in a suit, "come with me."

The young man jumped up and followed at the inspector's command. He trailed the inspector into his small office.

"Please close the door after yourself," Etienne requested; watching as the young office did as he was told. "I want you to listen carefully and follow my instructions with equal care." He waited until the young man nodded before continuing.

Those officers and detectives and inspectors who sat beyond the windows of Inspector Menard's office unabashedly watched what was transpiring; they all knew who the manacled prisoner was in the interrogation room. Several sets of eyes quickly returned to their own work as the door opened and the young officer came out. Yet they had not returned quickly enough so that they did not see the stunned look on the face of the officer. Nor could they fail to hear the barked order from Inspector Menard.

"Close that door!"

Closing doors that left no open windows in their wake haunted every step that Erik took through the snow-blanketed woods that morning. With each step that crunched on the frozen ground beneath, Erik could hear the sound of a door slamming shut. With each soft thud of melting snow falling from a barren tree limb, Erik could hear the soft sound of a window closing, the lock on its sash being turned, forbidding entry – or exit. The cloak clasped at his neck flowed open from his shoulders to flutter about his feet but the cold that swirled through his open cloak was an old friend that Erik could embrace with equal amounts of fondness and disgust. The ungloved fingers of one hand clutched tightly to the pouch they held, fiercely guarding the remnants of his soul that snuggled safe inside the soft leather. The other ungloved hand reached up to adjust the fedora that covered one side of his face. His fingers reached out to his skin, looking to find the mask that was not there and Erik snorted in derision; he had fought a great mental battle that morning to avoid hiding beneath its comfort and familiarity.

It was a battle he had very nearly lost.

Erik had withdrawn the black leather mask from where it had rested, unwanted and unneeded, in the back of a bottom drawer. He had held it in his hands, turning it over and over, as he struggled with the past that beckoned so seductively and the present that was quickly slipping away. He had placed it upon his face, walking to the mirror that hung on the wall, staring for long moments at that which stared back at him. His fingers had curled into talons, reaching up to tear the offending item from his face and throw it across the room, back into the dark drawer from whence it had come. But at the last moment, his fingers had uncurled and Erik simply reached up to remove the mask. He had stared at his unmasked reflection before turning to gently place the mask back into its drawer. "The man has one last thing to do before the Beast returns," he had whispered to himself as the drawer closed, hiding the mask in the darkness.

And now the last pieces of the man to whom Erik held were within steps of their final goal.

He stood silently at the very edge of the woods that bordered Madame Giry's backyard. Erik closed his eyes for a moment and could see Tallis sitting in the sun, her hair gleaming like warm honey. He could hear her laughter that had a melody all its own to rival the song of the birds that twittered overhead. Erik shook his head as he slowly opened his eyes, looking upon a landscape that was now as barren and as bleak as his heart. He also noticed that no one was about so he moved from the shelter of the woods, still careful to cling to the shadows around the edges of the property as he approached the house. He paused by the door to the kitchen, listening for the sound of the new maid that had been hired. Upon hearing nothing but the stillness of the house, Erik slowly opened the door and slipped easily into the kitchen. He willfully ignored the images and sounds of a happier time that called to him from every corner of the kitchen and walked into the hallway that led to the rest of the home. He walked to the double doors that gave entrance to the drawing room and paused before them, a hand reaching out.

"When did you get back?" a voice asked.

Erik turned to see Antoinette at the bottom of the stairs, her hand on the banister, a pleasantly surprised smile on her face.

"Ten days ago," he replied, managing a small smile in return for the woman who approached him. He watched her eyes narrow as she stopped by his side, appraising him with a wisdom born from the years of friendship that followed behind them.

"And you could not come to see me before now?" Antoinette wondered as she reached around Erik's hands to open the door to her drawing room.

The gentleman that still held to a small portion of Erik's heart and soul waived his friend into the room before him. He waited until Antoinette had perched herself on the edge of a brocaded sofa before closing the door. Erik placed his cape over a nearby chair, careful to keep its wet edges from touching the expensive carpet beneath and gently rested his hat upon it. He moved across the room to take a seat by Antoinette's side, the pouch still in his hands. He looked at it lovingly for a moment, elegant fingers caressing the leather, before handing it to Antoinette. "That," Erik said as she took it from his hands, "is the lullaby for your grandchild."

A wistful look passed over Antoinette's face, taking some of the care with it, as she looked at that which she now held. "Meg and Val will be so pleased," she said softly and raised her head. "Thank you very much."

Erik simply nodded as he gathered his thoughts about him like a shield. "Are you not going to ask about your former companion?" He could see the intelligence that flashed behind Antoinette's clear gaze. He could see her wondering why he did not refer to Tallis by name. And Erik knew perfectly well that Antoinette would never ask him why he had done such a thing for he knew she had no need to do so.

"I had a letter from her just the other day," Antoinette replied as she placed the music for her grandchild on the table beside the sofa. "She seems to be happy enough with the choices she has made."

"She certainly does," Erik replied as he folded his hands and leaned against the back of the sofa. "And I am not one of those choices."

"She let you go?" Antoinette asked the pertinent question.

Erik nodded once. "Obviously." He held out his hands. "If she had not, why would I be here?"

"Why are you here?" Antoinette wanted to know and tapped the pouch containing the music. "Other than that which stares us in the face."

"I am done," Erik began. "I am done with trying to reach for that which every other man receives so easily. I am done with chasing foolish dreams I left behind before I even knew how to dream." His eyes began to glitter dangerously. "I am done with humanity. I have never understood it. I will never understand it. I do not understand it now. I thought – for a brief moment – that I might truly understand this world in which you move but that moment came and went like that!" He snapped his fingers. "I will no longer subject myself to such trivial, mundane things such as life and romance. Such things are for those blessed with beauty and innocent hearts; I have neither." Erik shook his head. "No, I am truly done, Antoinette; there are only so many times a dog may be kicked before it tucks its tail between its legs and scurries back to where it cannot be seen or heard. I am tucking my tail between my legs. I am surrendering to the will of a fickle God that probably does not even exist." His expression softened. "I am here to say goodbye to the only friend I have ever known." Erik waited for Antoinette to once again save him from himself.

"If that is what you truly want," Antoinette told him, "then I shall wish you joy of it."

Erik raised a brow at her response. "You are not going to stop me? You are not going to pull me from my darkness? You are not going to save me from myself?" He heard the sigh that escaped Antoinette's lips.

"Do you truly want me to do so?" she wondered.

There was a moment of silence as the two friends studied each other, the emotions that played over the other face, hearing the words left unspoken, seeing years of secrets suddenly looming upward into a wall that could not be breached.

"No," came Erik's simple, one word reply. He refused to shy away from the knowing stare that bore into his soul. "I know you would not."

"I would not," Antoinette agreed, "but not for the reasons you think."

"What reasons then?" Erik asked.

"I am tired." Antoinette shook her head. "You are not the only one who has had a hard life. I am not saying that I had as difficult a time as you have; but it has not always been easy. Oh yes, there was a brief time when life was easy and everything I had dreamed it could be. I had a husband who loved me and a child we loved. I had a secure future and not a care in this world. It was a lovely dream that I shall treasure each and every day for the rest of my life. Yet, even as the dreams that come unbidden at night, that dream was fleeting and faded into memory when my husband died." Her hand reached out to touch the leather pouch that contained a lullaby. "And now I have a new dream. I have joy and laughter to once again anticipate. I have a chance to find myself loved unconditionally and without reservation." Her brow creased in determination. "I need such a thing. I crave it. And I no longer have the strength to pull you from your darkness." Once again her look grew gentle. "Nor do I think you wish me to do such a thing." The hand that rested upon the leather pouch moved to rest upon Erik's knee. "You know you do not have to do this."

"I know," Erik acknowledged. "But – much like you – I want to do so." He sighed as his shoulders sagged. "I, too, am tired. I find that I only have enough energy to get through the moment in which I find myself and even that energy fades. I want my peace and solitude returned to me."

"You will not fight with her and for her?"

Erik merely shook his head.

"Why?"

"Because she has stated her wishes quite clearly. Because – contrary to popular belief – I do have some self-respect and I would like to hold to it." Erik paused, his chin trembling, as he fought to get his emotions back under control. Only in the presence of his dearest friend would he allow himself a moment of surrender. Yet that was all it was – a moment. "Allow me at least this much dignity," he pleaded, the restrained emotions evident in the crack of his voice and for one last time, Erik, the man, humbled himself. "Please," he pleaded.

Antoinette swallowed her own pride, willed away her own tears and nodded her head. "Yes," she said and raised her arms, grateful that Erik could find the strength to accept her embrace. "Go whither you will and know that you take a piece of my heart and soul with you."

"Thank you," Erik breathed, " my dearest and truest friend."

And even as Erik and Antoinette bade goodbye to a lifelong friendship and to the lives that had been, another person absently cut an ancient deck of Tarot cards. Elegant fingers cut and re-cut the cards, feeling the edges, listening to the rustle of the heavy paper. This person sat in a room full of gleaming furnishings and rich tapestries. November sunlight spilled in through velvet drapes, lighting the room with a chilled brightness. Thin hands stopped their cutting of the cards and spread the entire deck in a straight line across the top of the highly polished desk.

"Soon," the person whispered as the first card was turned over. "The Queen of Cups." A half-smile turned up lips. "Dear, sweet Christine and the growth of a family." The card was laid down and another card turned over.

"The Knight of Cups," the person chortled. "How terribly appropriate!" The knight was laid next to the Queen. "A knight in the truest sense of the word. A knight who shall never be separated from his one true love." The person tsk'd. "And now Raoul knows that such a thing is only true in fairy tales."

The Fool was turned over and a strange look crossed the face of the person. "Not knowing where he goes, while a dog yaps playfully at his heels, he is unable to see the cliff off which he and his dog are falling." The card was laid atop the other two. "Henri and Didier. Do you not think I know what game you play?"

Another card turned over. Another player in the game defined. "Ah, Philippe," the words came, "you are The Hermit. You sought peace and solitude, thinking no one was aware of where your heart lies. What your heart sought." The card was slammed down. "But I am aware. I have always been aware."

"One last card," the person said as a hand moved over the remaining cards, hovering just above them, feeling the psychic vibrations, searching for just the right one.

And finding it.

The half-smile on the person's face grew wide, a definite self-satisfaction spreading from that smile across the entire face. Fingers lovingly caressed the card they held. "Death," the whispered word echoed about the room. "Death," the person repeated. "A change to come. Death. Perhaps death upon death." The hand holding the card lovingly placed it atop all the other cards that had been turned over, the hand resting over all the cards. "And now it is time for a change." The smile turned down into a snarl. "It is far past time for a change."

Eerie laughter bounced off the walls of the elegant room.


	70. Chapter 70

**Chapter Summary:** Even in the midst of horses and card games, Raoul is the main subject of discussion for those at Chagny. Xavier does not talk about Raoul but with him, giving him some insight into what happened while he was gone. Erik returns to the old and familiar. And Christine wakes Marie early in the morning with a request and a concern.

_**Author's Notes:** Andalusians and Lusitanos were both developed from the same original bloodline. The bloodline was split in the 16th century. The Andalusians were then bred in Spain and the Lusitanos in Portugal. Both breeds are still considered "The Horse of Kings". Oberstallmesiter is the German term for the person who heads the stable. And Vingt-et-un is the French version of Blackjack and was extremely popular during the 19th century. I am having so much with the research for this story … whee! And finally thank you to _LiveJournal user **"snafflebitnik"**_ for the Evil Plot Bunny she created that appears at the end of this chapter._

CHAPTER SEVENTY

Val shook his head as he walked back from the stables with Philippe. "Those are magnificent animals," he said. "I have never seen such perfect confirmation!" He sighed and turned to look at Philippe, longing in his eyes. "What I would not give to introduce such a bloodline into my own stock."

Philippe looked at the man beside him and thought of another young man with a love of horses. Val was not as young as Raoul but the same enthusiasm, the same spark of desire was in his eyes as he spoke of the Andalusians and Lusitanos housed so lovingly in the huge stable complex. "As I said, Raoul and I have both worked very hard to create those bloodlines." Philippe smiled. "That is one of the reasons I enjoy spending so much time here – it is an easy trip to Spain or Portugal to attend sales." He managed a small laugh. "I swear some of those buyers see me coming and they either run the other way or begin to rub their hands together. It is very hard to find a bargain once you are known."

"They would find me an easy mark, I am afraid," Val had to admit. "I never quite understood all the ins and outs of those sales. I would often find myself bored with the negotiations my father and his _Oberststallmeister_ and I would steal away to watch the horses." A sheepish look crossed Val's face. "It was poor behavior for the future Baron."

Philippe just shook his head. "Raoul did the same thing," he admitted, his eyes growing distant with the memory. "More often that not, my Vicomte would disappear from my side and the lessons I was trying to teach him. I knew I would find him down with the horses, petting velvet noses and offering treats. It is the way of the young."

"It is a wonder we learn anything as children."

"I believe that you and your wife and my brother and his wife will soon find the task of teaching the young directly before you."

Val nodded. "It is still some way off for Meg and I. Perhaps we can use that time to watch as Raoul and Christine begin to raise their child."

Philippe's response to Val's words was a worried grimace.

"Are matters still strained between them?" Val asked.

"Matters are still strained between my brother and everyone in this household," Philippe reluctantly admitted. "I had hoped having friends and family about would help Raoul to feel safe again but…" He shrugged. "I begin to find myself at a loss as to help my brother." There was an awkward silence broken when Philippe clapped Val warmly on the shoulder. "But I believe I can help you," he said. "Several of my mares will be foaling in the early spring."

"Our baby is due in May," Val reminded him.

"I know," Philippe told him. "But what would you say we negotiate on one foal from an Andalusian and one from a Lusitano. I will give you the choice of male or female from the breed and should there not be the sex from the breed you desire, I will lower the price of the foal.

Val's eyes lit up. "That is a deal almost too good to be true."

"I am quite the fool when it comes to a man who appreciates excellent horse flesh," Philippe replied.

Val was sorely tempted to roll his eyes. "I hardly think you are a fool when it comes to anything."

"I do believe these negotiations are not going to be as easy as either of us believe!" Philippe laughed.

Laughter was a hard commodity to come by in the bright yellow parlor where Val's wife sat talking with Christine, a silver tray with a fine china tea service on the table before them. Meg was watching her friend's face, trying very hard to find words of comfort that would do more than merely salve a wound she could not heal.

"Oh, Meg," Christine was saying. "He hates me. I know he hates me."

Meg put down the teacup and saucer she was balancing in her hands and reached out to Christine. "Surely you do not mean such a thing."

"I wish I did not." Christine raised her head to look at Meg and instead of tears in her eyes, there was a hint of pained submission, "but these last days have been so hard." Christine closed her eyes briefly and shook her head. "One moment Raoul is saying he loves me and in the very next breath he is accusing me of things that I would not do in even my worst nightmares."

"I have not seen or heard him do anything when we are all together." Meg looked a bit puzzled.

Christine sighed. "I think Raoul saves all of his cruel words until we are alone and that is when my husband turns into a monster." Christine pushed herself to her feet and walked over to the fireplace. She placed a hand against the mantle and stared down into the small fire. "He will never forgive me for the argument we had that led to all of this. He thinks I was the one who asked Erik to come to me. He thinks I left because I wanted to marry someone else." Christine winced and reached for the pain that flared in her side. "There are even times when I think Raoul believes I do not want this child."

"That cannot possibly be true!" Meg exclaimed. "Have you not told him how ill you were? Have you not told him how hard you have fought to see this baby is born healthy?"

"Why would I do such a thing?" Christine laughed bitterly as she turned around. "If I told him of almost losing his child, of all the problems I have had, it would just be one more reason for Raoul to think the worst of me."

"Oh Christine," Meg sighed as she held out her hands, waiting until Christine walked back to the sofa, took her hands and sat down. "After everything that has happened, after all you have done for him…"

"After all that I have done to him, you mean," Christine interrupted.

Meg's lips pursed into a thin line and her brow furrowed in anger. "You did not do anything to him!" she insisted. "Those horrible men were the ones who hurt him; you have been doing nothing but helping! You were the one who fought with his doctors. You are the one who has been making sure he has all his favorite foods and has enough time to rest."

"I am the one who betrayed his trust in me by lying to him about our baby in the first place." Christine frowned. "No wonder Raoul finds it so easy to think the worst of me."

Meg was silent for a moment as she thought. "Well, then," she began, "so there are times when Raoul thinks the worst of you. What are you planning on doing about it?"

"What can I do?" Christine wondered as she shrugged her shoulders.

"Well I never!" Meg took back her hands and crossed her arms about her waist.

"Excuse me?" Christine asked, her tone of voice a bit shocked and hurt.

"You were the one who fought to save Raoul from Erik," Meg began. "You were the one who stuck her little nose in the air and never backed down from all those Parisian society matrons. You were the one who showed me how to face them. Do you not remember all those nights in the opera house dormitories when we would stay up at night and plot our horrible vengeance against everyone who we were mad at?"

Christine actually managed a small laugh. "I do remember." She sighed. "Oh, to be young and foolish again!"

"And now what are you planning on doing about your marriage?" Meg wondered.

Christine raised her head and set her lips in a grim smile. "I am going to fight for it," she replied.

A self-satisfied smile crossed Meg's face as she leaned back into the corner of the sofa. "That is what I thought," she said smugly.

Down the hall, in the dining room, other people staying at the chateau sat around the small round dining table normally reserved for family dinners, two cards spread laid face down before each person. The young man holding the deck wore a smug smile on his face as he gazed at the faces of the people about him. Henri ruffled the cards he held. "The name of the game is _Vingt-et-un_," he said.

Desiree frowned at her young cousin. "You are lucky you lived to be twenty-one with that attitude," she said as she gazed at her cards and shook her head.

Henri pouted playfully in her direction. "But I thought you loved me."

"Love is so highly over-rated," Didier said as he looked and Henri and nodded. He frowned at the card Henri placed before him and leaned back in his chair. "I am out."

Henri smiled at Charlotte. "What would you say about love, dear Charlotte?"

"I do not know that I feel comfortable speaking of such things in such a mixed company," she replied and nodded. Charlotte looked at the card Henri gave her and nodded again. "Such things should be whispered about behind fans in salons." She blushed. "Or in the privacy of the boudoir."

Desiree burst into laughter. "You have been married for far too long! What ever happened to my flirtatious younger sister? Too much snow in Austria to cool your blood?"

"Too much sun in Italy to heat yours?" Charlotte shot back.

Henri winked at Didier, an action that spoke loudly between the two friends but was barely a whisper to anyone else. "Is it not terribly exciting to see two women disagree?"

Didier allowed a slight smile to play over his lips. "It positively makes the heart race," he agreed. "Although, I would much prefer it were they to be fighting over me."

A sigh came from the woman seated beside Didier. "You are such a cad," Monique sighed as she looked at her cards. She nodded at Henri. "And you are even worse." She looked at the card she received and shook her head.

Desiree could not help the laugh that escaped her lips. "You should know about cads! You have been stuck here in the country with my Philippe and Xavier for years!"

"I simply do not know how you do it," Charlotte smiled, enjoying the opportunity to needle Monique about her older brother.

Monique placed her hands on the table and fixed a sweet smile upon her face. "Well, my dear, with age does come experience," she began. "And such a thing allows me to handle cads with grace and elegance." She moved her hands to place one on Didier's shoulder and one on Henri's shoulder.

Laughter broke out from those seated about the table.

"_Touché_, dear cousin," Henri finally managed as he dealt himself another card and turned to Monique. "And where is your charming husband? I thought he would be playing cards with us before luncheon?"

Monique nodded toward the ceiling. "He was in the study briefly with Philippe and now he is upstairs visiting with Raoul."

Charlotte sighed. "I hope Xavier is able to talk some sense into Raoul."

Henri nodded about the table. "Are we ready?" He watched as everyone nodded. "Cards over, ladies." All the cards were turned over, with Henri going last and turning over the ace of spades and the king of spades. "I believe this house wins this round," he said with a wink and a smile.

"The house always wins," Didier muttered under his breath, not caring if anyone heard him.

Upstairs, the man who caused Philippe such worry, the man who Christine could feel slipping away from her, was seated on the lounge in his bedroom. There was actually a smile on Raoul's face as he spoke with the man who was seated on the chair beside him.

"It is so nice to see you," Raoul was saying and a frown momentarily crossed his face. "And to have someone treat me like a human being."

Xavier was a bit stunned. "Surely that cannot be correct? Everyone is so relieved that you are alive and back home that I cannot picture them doing anything other than rejoicing."

"Look about you," Raoul said as he gestured at things about the room. "Have you ever seen such an elegantly appointed prison?"

"Raoul," Xavier replied with a shake of his head. "I do not think your family keeps you in here for their amusement." He waved at the scars from healed wounds, the fingertips that were still healing. "You were not quite yourself when you returned to us. You were so drugged at first that you did not even know Monique and I had come several times to see you." A smile lit up his face. "And now look at you! Ever since Christine took on your doctors regarding your treatment, you have improved vastly! You are up and out of your bed and I know you have been sneaking out of this room behind everyone's back."

"Damn servants," Raoul muttered.

"Damn older brother," Xavier corrected him. "Oh, please, do not look so shocked! You know perfectly well that nothing in this family goes by without Philippe noticing." He paused for a moment. "Or have you?"

"They may have taken…" Raoul began angrily and stopped. "I have not forgotten anything."

Xavier stood up and crossed the short distance between chair and lounge. He sat down at the end of the lounge near Raoul's feet. "I am not your family. I am your friend and what is said between us will not leave this room." He placed a hand on Raoul's leg. "Please talk to me."

There was a very long silence in which Xavier watched the emotions that played across Raoul's face. He struggled to hold onto his own emotions, unwilling to distract from the moment.

Raoul drew a deep breath and let it out. "It hurts so much to know that while I was in that horrible place life went on without me. Each and every one of you found some way to let me go and move on with your life. And I resent it and it makes me so angry because I will never get those days back! I had to find out from those bastards that Christine was expecting a child! I will never know what the moment was like when Christine first felt our child move. I will never have a summer spent in the country, enjoying lazy mornings on the back portico with my brother. I have lost a part of my life and none of you have!"

Xavier was angry. "Is that what you think it was like?"

Raoul set his jaw and just nodded.

"Then allow me the privilege of disavowing you of those foolish notions." Now it was Xavier's turn to draw a deep breath to steady his emotions. "This whole family died right along with you. You did not see the anger and grief that Philippe suffered each and every time your abductors sent a package. You did not see how your wife shriveled into a mere ghost of herself. You did not have to see your wife collapse when we told her you were dead. You did not see the suddenly brave young woman who got your brother through your funeral and who stood alone with your casket as she said goodbye. You did not see how your brother let himself go, not eating or sleeping or shaving. And you were not here when this letter was read." Xavier reached into his pocket and handed Raoul a piece of paper. "I asked Philippe if he kept it and if I could show it to you." He thrust the paper at Raoul. "Read this."

"Why?" Raoul asked even as his hands took the letter. His eyes lowered to look at it, widening as he recognized Christine's handwriting.

"Because this is the letter that Christine sent to tell Philippe that she had left and why," Xavier told him. "This is the letter that explains why Christine felt she had to leave. This is the letter that says she knows she was being blamed for your death because of the truth she had been withholding. And this is the letter that showed how much she loved you and wanted you to be proud of her." Xavier watched as Raoul closed his eyes in pain as he finished the letter. "And that was the same reaction that each and everyone of us had when we found out that Christine was pregnant and left so that she could protect your child."

"She has changed so much," Raoul said softly as his chin trembled. He kept hold of the letter as his eyes opened. "Philippe is the same. My sisters are the same. You are the same. Henri has changed somewhat but he is still the same. Yet Christine has changed so much."

"She has had to change," Xavier reminded Raoul. "When she thought you were dead, Christine found herself alone and with a child on the way. A child, need I remind you, that she was terrified of your family taking away from her."

"They would not have," Raoul grumped.

"No, they would not have," Xavier agreed. "But Christine was so distraught that she could not see that. I would think that you would be proud of how she has grown and changed. She is no longer a little girl but a woman of which any man could be proud."

"I know that. I know that," Raoul admitted and to Xavier it looked as if he wanted to cry as he pulled the letter next to his heart. "Christine is everything I knew she could be – beautiful and smart and strong and capable. She is finally the woman I saw within the girl I married. And now she no longer needs me." Raoul turned his head to look out the window. "She no longer needs me," he whispered.

Raoul was not the only one who was finding himself lost without the woman he loved. Yet while Raoul was mourning his loss, Erik had moved past his loss and knew exactly what he was doing and where he would be going. He looked out the window and watched as the sun slowly began to set and turned back to his garret. Erik's eyes slowly scanned the clean room, looking for any flaw, any sign that he had ever been there. A slight smile curled his lips as he nodded – no one would ever be able to tell that he had ever been there. A final glance over his shoulder to the lengthening shadows of the outside world, told Erik that now was the time. He crossed the floor of the garret, pausing to gather his cape and throw it over his shoulders. The hat that rested atop the coat rack followed the cape. Erik adjusted the hat without looking, moving it down over the right side of his face, covering the familiar leather mask behind which his true being was once again hidden. Erik opened the door before him and walked from the garret without a single backward glance.

A lifetime, which had mostly been spent hiding in and clinging to the shadows, allowed Erik to move through the cold November night without being seen. He smirked as he gazed up at the moonless night sky; it was a sign that his choice had been correct. It was a sign that he was being welcomed back to the dark. It was a sign that the arms if the night were once again opening up to him. Erik felt the night move through him, a welcome, comfortable feeling of black numbness. He drew his cape more tightly about him in an attempt to hold onto that feeling, desperate to reclaim the discarded remnants of his previous life. Each step he made through the shadows of a deepening Paris night carried Erik further and further from all that he might have been and back to all that he was. Those footsteps guided Erik from a life where he had been a part of humanity and back to a life where he manipulated humanity.

It took hours of walking from the northwest corner of Paris for Erik to reach his final destination. He moved in the shadows, hiding from the gaslights, turning his head from passing people. He kept his head down, unwilling to make eye contact with the lesser beings who passed by him. On those rare occasions when a brave soul would catch his eye, the person would turn in fear at the frightening glitter in the eyes that stared back. It was at those times that Erik would feel a familiar, nearly forgotten, sense of power fill his being and a deadly smile would pass over his lips. He could feel his chest swell as power surged through him, filling his dark voids with an even darker sense of being.

Erik smiled to himself as he began to recognize landmarks from his past. The streets were empty in the wee hours of the morning as he finally stopped before the edifice that loomed up before him. Erik raised an eyebrow at the scaffolding that covered the front of the building. The thought passed through his mind that Monsieur Garnier was gong to be quite displeased to find out that he had dug up an old friend in his attempt to restore his opera house. Erik wondered if Garnier was as good an architect as the papers claimed. He wondered if Garnier turned out to be incompetent, would the man succumb to the renewed haunting of the opera ghost. Erik laughed slightly as he thought that none of it really mattered and then sighed as he walked from the front of the building, turning the corner, seeking a familiar entrance. And finding it.

He stood silently for a moment inside the entrance through which he had slipped unseen. Erik waited as his eyes grew accustomed to the nearly pitch blackness of the tunnel. As objects slowly began to draw into focus, Erik began walking. His feet walked purposefully down the long tunnel, sidestepping traps that no one but the person who set them would know. Erik stopped for a moment at the end of the tunnel, reaching into a crevice in the wall, finding a lever and pulling at the mechanism. His eyes watched as the wall before him creaked open. Erik waited until the door stopped and walked through the opening, pausing to pull at another lever, closing the wall behind him. He walked across the floor scattered with what remained of the mob's fury. Erik swung his cloak from his shoulders, dropping it over the damp, moldy mess on the floor. He stood motionless before the instrument before him before taking a seat and running his hands lovingly over the dust covered keys of his pipe organ.

"Welcome home," Erik breathed. "Are you glad to see me old friend?"

And as the sun began to color the morning sky, chasing away the night in which Erik hid himself, another person so familiar with that darkness was beginning to awaken. Christine's eyes slowly fluttered open and a single hand reached out to massage her child. There was no response to the circles she traced over her swollen belly and a frown passed over Christine's still sleepy countenance. "At least one of us can still sleep," she said as she tossed the covers to the end of the bed and sat up. Christine pushed herself to the edge of the mattress and slowly stood up. She turned around and reached for her dressing gown and paused, as she looked at the bed in the dim light peaking in through the velvet draperies. Christine drew a deep breath as she quickly shrugged into her dressing gown. She moved across her room and knocked lightly on the door to the adjoining room. The door slowly opened and Marie stood there, wiping the sleep from her eyes.

"Marie, I need your help," Christine stated.

Suddenly Marie was awake. "What is it? What is wrong?"

"Quietly and without waking Raoul, I need you to go and wake Philippe and bring him to me."

Christine reached out trembling hands to hold to Marie's arms. "There is dried blood on my sheets."


	71. Chapter 71

**Chapter Summary:** Monsieur Corhei arrives to treat Christine. Christine puts her foot down and orders that no one tell Raoul what has happened. Fortunately, Marie does not listen very well …

_**Author's Notes:** A fetal stethoscope (also known as Pinard's stethoscope or a pinard) is a listening device used in the care of pregnancy. The instrument is shaped like a listening trumpet and is placed on the abdomen of the woman so that the midwife or doctor can find the fetal heart sounds. It was developed by Frenchman Adolphe Pinard (1844-1934) and was in use as little as 30 years ago._

CHAPTER SEVENTY ONE

Monsieur Joris Corhei smiled as he bent over Christine. "You may have one last watery sniffle," he said, "but then you must remain as still and as silent as possible." He waited for a moment as he stared into the worried eyes that looked back at him. "Do you understand me, Madame?"

"Yes," Christine replied, as she took her free hand to wipe away the frightened tears that dampened her cheeks. She turned her head to glance at Meg who was seated beside her on the bed, holding on to her other hand. Christine managed a wavering smile for Meg and turned her head back so that she was looking at the green silk lining the bed canopy. She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly and gave one last watery sniffle. "I am ready," Christine said as she closed her eyes, feeling Meg's cool hand go to rest over her feverish brow. Christine could feel something placed over her abdomen, pushing slightly against her stretched skin. She did not wish to think about what was happening so Christine let her mind drift back over the events of the morning that had brought her to this moment:

_Philippe's long legs carried him quickly down the hall; Marie having to nearly run to keep up with him. He only paused to push open the door that was slightly ajar, trusting that Marie would close it softly behind him. In a moment Philippe was across the bedroom floor to take the woman who stood at the end of the bed into his arms. "Christine," he whispered as he placed a kiss on her head before drawing back, his worry a palpable presence. "What has happened?"_

_Christine was still; the only visible sign of emotion the tears that welled in the corners of her eyes. "I woke up to find blood on my sheets." She held up a hand to stop Philippe's words. "It was not much and I think it has stopped but I need to see a doctor and I need to do it without Raoul knowing."_

"_But…" Philippe tried._

"_No," Christine was adamant. "Raoul already thinks the worst of me and he does not need to be upset further until I know for certain what is happening."_

"_How do you propose to do that with Raoul sleeping across the hall?"_

"_Meg and Val are sleeping in the other wing." Christine drew a deep breath and squared her shoulders; she had quickly and carefully thought out her actions. "I am going to go there; in that way Raoul will never know what is happening until someone tells him." She nodded slightly. "Plus there is the side staircase and you can bring the doctor up those stairs and no one else in the chateau need know."_

_Philippe was incredulous. "Should you be walking? Should you even be standing?"_

_Christine looked crestfallen. "Philippe, I need at least one member of this family to trust me! Please! I need your help!"_

"_I am sorry," Philippe began as he turned to look over his shoulder at Marie. "Is the door still closed?" He waited until Marie nodded and turned back to Christine. "I am gong to walk you down to the room next to where your friends are staying. Then I shall go for the doctor myself."_

"_Thank you," Christine said as she sniffled back a sob._

"_I wish you would let me tell Raoul," Philippe began, "but I shall not for you have your reasons," he finished and smiled. "And I do trust you." Philippe wrapped a supportive arm about Christine's waist. "Let us not waste any more time."_

_Christine had found the walk down the hall, across the second floor landing and down the other hall to be a challenge; yet she said nothing. She clenched her teeth together and kept envisioning one foot moving in front of the other. She knew that Philippe kept glancing at her, able to feel the shaking that threatened to bring her to her knees. But Christine could not stop for while she could feel her marriage slipping away, she still had a husband to protect. She could not and would not destroy what little happiness to which Raoul still held until there was no other choice. Christine had gratefully sunk to the mattress to which Philippe and Marie had guided her._

"_I am going to get Meg and I shall be back shortly with the doctor," Philippe said as he quickly left the room._

_Christine looked up as Marie took her hands. _

"_Can you feel the baby move?" Marie wondered._

"_I am shaking too hard to tell," Christine whispered. _

"_Christine!" Meg exclaimed as she ran into the room, having not even thrown a dressing gown over her negligee._

_Marie moved discreetly out of the way as Meg sat on the bed, gathering Christine into her arms. She heard Christine finally break into choking sobs as Meg drew Christine's head to her shoulder, murmuring words of comfort. "I think we should lay her down."_

_Meg looked up, her face as pale as Christine's. "I think you are right." Meg put her hand under Christine's chin and raised her head. "You need to lay down and put your feet up." Meg stood, helping Christine to swing her legs up on the bed as Marie gathered pillows, slipping them under Christine's feet._

"_Please do not go!" Christine begged as she grabbed onto Meg's hands._

"_I am not going anywhere," Meg assured her as she sat beside Christine._

And Meg still sat beside Christine, holding onto her hand, watching as Joris Corhei's hands felt about Christine's swollen belly. She watched as he reached for a huge trumpet like instrument, placing it over a spot on Christine's belly that one hand marked. Meg had placed a cool hand over Christine's forehead as Joris placed his ear over the opening at the top of the instrument. She watched his face as he stood very still in the silent room. Meg drew in a shallow breath that she held as a puzzled look passed over Joris' face. It was a breath she let out as a huge smile began to grow on her own face. "Christine," she said urgently, as she shook the hand to which she held. "Open your eyes." Meg looked down.

"I am afraid," Christine whispered.

"Open your eyes!" Meg insisted. "He is smiling!"

Christine opened one eye and peeked at the expression on her doctor's face; the other eye snapped open. "What?" Christine managed to say past lungs that could not remember how to breathe and a heart that raced faster than any thoroughbred.

Joris straightened and looked at Meg. "Would you like to hear what a baby's heartbeat sounds like?"

"My baby is alive?" Christine asked as she struggled to rise up on her elbows.

"Lay down," Joris ordered her with a slight smile on his face. "Baroness?"

Christine turned her head toward Meg. "Go," she said. "Tell me what my baby's heartbeat sounds like."

Meg rose and walked the few paces to where Joris stood, holding lightly to the Pinard stethoscope. "What do I do?" she asked.

"If Madame will remain still and quiet for a few more moments," Joris said, his eyes twinkling as he glanced briefly at Christine and turned back to Meg. "I will hold the Pinard and you may place your ear over the opening at the top."

Meg did as she was told and stood silently for a moment, her ear over the end of the Pinard. Slowly her eyes began to widen and a huge smile grew on her face. She straightened and turned to Christine. "It is incredible!"

"What does my baby sound like?" Christine asked eagerly.

"Like … like …" Meg struggled for words. "Like the sound of a very fast metronome ticking under water." She bent back over the Pinard, a look of wonder and awe upon her face. "It is incredible," Meg breathed as she raised her head and looked at Monsieur Corhei. "Will my baby sound like that?"

"Every baby sounds like that," he promised Meg and turned his attention to Christine. "Your baby sounds perfectly healthy."

"Thank you, God," Christine said as her eyes closed momentarily in prayer. "What happened?" she continued as she opened her eyes. "Why was there blood on my sheets? Why could I not feel my baby move? Why was she not moving like she usually does? Am I going to lose my baby? I cannot lose my baby!" The questions and fears were pouring out of Christine faster than she could form a coherent thought. "What is happening to me!"

Joris looked around and reached for a chair that was tucked beneath a vanity. He pulled the chair next to the bed and sat down, taking one of Christine's hands in his own. "You said you believe you have another six to eight weeks before this baby is due," he asked.

Christine's eyes grew very wide. "I am not going to have this baby early, am I?"

"Honestly, I do not know." The physician drew a deep breath, calming himself so that he could calm his patient. "This is what I believe has happened," he began. "Your baby has dropped very far down in your womb. That is something that should not happen for another two to four weeks." He stroked Christine's hand as her mouth opened. "But each pregnancy is different. While this could be a sign that you will deliver early, I do not believe it is so for your baby's head is not in quite the correct position yet."

Christine raised her free hand to rest against her forehead. "What did I do wrong? I have done everything I was told to do. Why is this happening to my baby?"

Joris took his free hand and removed the one that Christine had placed on her head. "You have done nothing," he told her. "Every pregnancy - every birth - is different."

Christine asked the one question that had terrified her. "What about the blood?"

"I think that – perhaps - your baby dropped suddenly during the night and the resultant pressure against your cervix may have burst some tiny blood vessels." Joris smiled at the panicked look that Christine gave him. "I highly doubt it will happen again but - just in case - I want you to spend the next day in this bed with your feet raised just as they are now."

"Thank you," Christine breathed as she turned to look at Marie, who was standing, waiting in a corner before turning back to the doctor.

"I can tell that this is a very old chateau," Joris went on, "but is there a bath close by?"

"There is one in the room next door," Meg piped up.

Joris nodded. "That is as far as you may go, then," he addressed Christine. "I think the reason your child has not been as active as you have grown to know is that your child may be as shocked by what happened as you have been. What affects the mother, affects the child." He thought for a moment to himself. "You have said, though, that your child is, once again, moving in a usual pattern."

"Yes," Christine said around the relieved tears that dripped down her cheeks, dampening her hair and the pillow beneath.

"That is very good." Joris stood. "I will be back this evening to check on you and then again in the morning. Plus I am going to give you something that will allow you to relax. I want you to sleep and dream happy thoughts and think upon nothing else for the next two days."

"It will not hurt my baby?" Christine worried.

Joris shook his head. "It is an herbal tea. I promise I will never give you anything that would harm your child."

Christine nodded her assent.

"I am going to go and inform the Comte about your condition as he is quite worried." Joris reached out to touch Christine's hand. "And I shall see you later tonight." He turned his gaze toward Meg. "If anything happens, you are to send for me immediately."

"I understand," Meg said and watched as the doctor left the room to speak with Philippe. She then turned her attention back to Christine, a questioning look on her face.

"No," Christine said emphatically. "You are not to tell Raoul."

"But Christine…" Meg tried.

"I will not have him upset," Christine insisted and her voice softened, "especially by me." She sighed and reached for her child, smiling as she felt little elbows and knees poke at her gentle massages. "You need to go about your day as if nothing has happened." Christine told Meg. "You need to tell everyone to go about their day as if nothing has happened."

Meg's lips set in a firm line. "And what if Raoul asks for you or should come looking for you? I cannot lie to him, Christine."

Christine frowned lightly. "I doubt if he will even notice I am gone," she sighed. "But if he does, just tell him that I am resting or something." Her eyes closed. "I cannot think at the moment."

"I will see to it," Marie said from the corner.

"Thank you," Christine replied, unable to see the look of determination upon Marie's face.

It was a determination that grew in Marie's heart and mind over the course of the day. It grew as she sat by, keeping Christine company, sometimes chatting about their time by the sea, other times just watching Christine's restless sleep. It grew as Marie watched Philippe come nearly every ten minutes to check on Christine until Christine had shooed him away lest Raoul or anyone else in the chateau discover what had happened. It grew as Marie listened to Meg try to speak sense to Christine about telling Raoul what had happened and Christine would say she was tired and close her eyes, effectively cutting off the conversation. Marie's determination grew moment by moment until, as the light began to soften and Christine finally fell into a deep sleep, she could stand no more and decided to take matters into her own hands.

Marie stood and glanced at the mantle clock, nodding to herself as she realized that everyone would be gathering for tea in the downstairs parlor - everyone but the one person with whom she needed to speak. Marie gave a last glance at Christine who was still and silent on the huge bed; she nodded to herself and quietly left the room. Marie moved quickly down the hallway, pausing momentarily before the landing, looking cautiously around the corner and into the downstairs entry. She could only see the ever present valet waiting at the front door. Marie took long strides across the landing and her rapid footsteps took her down the other hallway, stopping before a closed door which she opened. She moved purposefully into the room, crossing the floor to stand before the highboy. Marie opened a closed drawer near the bottom and pulled out the envelope she knew she would find there. She slipped the envelope into the pocket of her skirt and slipped out the room, crossing the hall to stand before another closed door. Marie drew a deep breath to steady her nerves despite the certainty that lived within her heart and told her that she was doing the correct thing. She raised her hand and knocked lightly on the door.

"Come," a male voice called out.

Marie opened the door and walked into the room, closing it behind her. "Monsieur," she smiled as Raoul looked up from the book he had been reading to see who had entered his room. Marie watched as he placed the open book on the table beside the lounge.

"Marie," Raoul said, a puzzled look crossing his face. "Where is Christine? She is usually in here several times a day and she has not been here today at all. Everyone is saying that she is tired or busy." The puzzled look slowly turned into wistful. "I miss her."

"I know where Madame is," Marie replied as she crossed the room to Raoul's side, reaching into her pocket and pulling out the envelope she had retrieved from Christine's room. "But before I tell you where she is, you need to read this." Marie watched as the wistfulness on Raoul's face turned into worry.

"What is this?" he said as he took the envelope.

"It is a letter that was written two days before we received the news that you were still alive," Marie told him and crossed her arms over her chest. "I think you need to read it." Marie grew quiet as she watched the emotions that played over Raoul's face as he read the letter he held in his hands.

_Dearest Philippe,_ the letter began, _I imagine you are stunned and surprised and shocked to be receiving a letter from me after the cowardly way I left Chagny. I know that the words "I am sorry" are not nearly enough of an apology for all the hurt I have brought upon you. You are the one person that did not deserve my cruel and thoughtless deeds and I shall do penance for them for the rest of my days. Yet I was frightened of losing my child and now that I have truly faced that fear, I know that I need fear it no longer. I believe it shall please you and bring a smile to your face to know that I am still in France and that your brother's child and I are doing well. The baby is busily kicking at me, trying to get my attention even as I put pen to paper. I swear she – and I know it will be a she! – knows that I am writing to the uncle she will adore. I have been seeing a doctor regularly and there are many caring people about me who watch for my every need. I have rented a house by the sea which I can see from my windows. I find myself visiting the beach for hours on end and it is in that way that I can keep Raoul close to me. I listen to the cries of the gulls and the pounding of the surf and I can remember the brave boy who rescued my scarf and the gentle, gallant man who loved a silly little girl more than she deserved. Oh, Philippe, it pains me to know that my child will never know what it is like to be cradled in her father's arms, to hear his heartbeat, to know his tenderness and his humor and his wisdom. I can never give her all those things. I can never tell her all the stories of the years when Raoul and I did not know each other. But you can! You can tell my child of her father – of the child that grew into the man. And I want you to be here when she is born. I want my child to know what it is like to be held in those strong arms that Raoul would wrap so lightly about me. I know that when you hold my child, she will be able to feel her father's touch and she will be calm and know what it is to be loved. You can give my child her heritage and the one thing I want but I know I will never have again – you can give her Raoul. You can give my child her father."_

Marie watched as Raoul carefully folded the letter, placing it on the lounge next to him, before raising his eyes to look at her.

"Why did Christine never say anything about this?" Raoul wondered. "Why could she not say anything to me?"

"Because there are things that happened that are not mentioned in that letter." Marie squared her shoulders, it was now or never but Marie was not about to back down. "I was with your wife from the time she returned to Paris until we came back here. I was there when Erik appeared on our doorstep. I listened to her yell and scream at him, her words carrying through a closed door. I watched as she collapsed and spent the next two weeks nearly motionless as she fought to save your child."

"What?" Raoul was stunned.

"Christine has not had an easy pregnancy," Marie said, forgetting the societal norms as she reverted to the protective friend. "She nearly lost the baby."

"That bastard," Raoul muttered, his face growing grim.

"And you are just as bad," Marie told him.

"Excuse me?"

Marie was not going to back down. "Do you know that your wife has been having problems ever since she returned here? Do you know that she is so frightened of disappointing you, of taking away the one happiness you have, the one thing you want – that baby she carries – that she has been hiding the pain she has been in from you?" Marie flung out her hand in the direction of the other wing. "Do you know that Christine awoke this morning to find blood on her sheets? Even now she is in the room next door to the Baroness, lying still once again, doing everything she knows how to do to make sure your child is born healthy." Marie reached up to brush away angry tears. "She did not want you to know. She knows you have been through a terrible ordeal and she knows that you blame her. She is still trying to protect you, to make sure you get well, to make sure you are happy. She is taking on all your stress and receiving all your anger and you cannot even see that! You cannot see how much she loves you!"

Raoul was silent for moment before bending over, elbows on knees, as he placed his head into his hands. "What have I done?"

"Nothing that you cannot fix," Marie replied in a stern tone of voice, watching, waiting for Raoul to lift his head.

"I cannot hurt her anymore," he whispered.

Marie drew a deep breath and placed her hands on her hips. "Then you are not even the man that your wife's angel was!"

Her comment drew Raoul's attention and lifted his head, a furious glint in his eye. "How dare you!" he spat back.

"I dare because I was with your wife when you were not! I dare because – as much as I hated that man – he had the courage to face your wife's grief and anger! I dare because I watched him and your wife struggle past all that grief and anger to find the strength to forgive each other and let go. I dare because I pleaded and cajoled with Christine nearly every day to return to the family that you loved. I dare because I had to listen to your wife mourn alone in the middle of the night as she finally grieved your loss." Marie stamped her foot. "I dare because I was the one who defended you to each and every person who would listen! And I will not have you prove my defense false!"

The two people in the room stared at each other for a long moment, anger glittering in their eyes. It was Raoul who backed down first.

"She does not need me anymore," he said as the anger fled from his eyes but not from his tone of voice.

Marie looked at him in disbelief. "How could I have been so wrong about you!" she said. "You are the only thing she has ever needed or wanted! You have no idea how many nights I would hear her crying for you, pleading with God, even demanding, that He give you back to her! Now that you are back, I begin to wonder why she would have wanted such a thing!" Marie could feel her anger boil over, her heart controlling the words that slipped from her lips. "It would have been far better if you had remained dead!" She turned on her heel and walked toward the door.

"Wait!" she heard a voice call out to her. "Marie." It tried again. "Please!" The voice pleaded.

Marie paused by the door, her hand on the knob. "Why?" she asked, refusing to shed the tears that threatened or to turn around.

"Everyone has gone on with their lives," she heard Raoul begin. "Everything has changed so much and I feel … I feel …" Marie heard Raoul's voice catch and turned to face him. "I feel like I no longer belong. I feel like there is nothing left for me and I am afraid to let anyone too close." Marie watched as Raoul turned his head, struggling with his emotions. "I am afraid to find out that everything I listened to for months on end is true. I am afraid that everyone will see that I am the one who has changed." Marie began to cross back to Raoul as he hung his head, his words barely above a whisper. "I am afraid that there is no where left for me to go, no one who wants me."

Marie stopped by Raoul's side and let out a long breath, calming her agitation before she spoke again. "I am sorry that I allowed my anger and my concern for you wife to overcome my better instincts. I am sorry that I spoke out of place and I will understand if such is an unforgivable breech of manners and conduct." She smiled gently at Raoul as he finally turned to look at her. "But for you to think that you do not belong here, that there is no one who wants you is utter nonsense! Even if there was not another soul in this world who would be glad to see you, to hold out welcoming arms, I can think of one who would always – always! – have a smile with which to grace you and an open heart ready to receive you." Marie laid a hand on Raoul's shoulder, knowing it was a breech of protocol but no longer caring. "You must believe that and she needs to hear it." Marie watched as Raoul silently studied her face.

"Can you help me go to her?" he finally asked.

"Of a certainty," Marie replied as she held out hands, helping Raoul to his feet.

Raoul still tired easily and it was a long walk – with many stops – on which Marie guided him. She allowed Raoul to cling to her arm when he tired. Marie waited patiently when Raoul would stop to get his breath. She easily maneuvered him down the long hallway, across the second floor landing and to the door leading to his wife without either of them being seen.

"I will stay here," Marie told him as she watched Raoul place a hand on the doorknob, "and keep watch."

Raoul nodded and managed a small smile. "I hope my wife knows what a good friend you are," he said as he disappeared into the bedroom where Christine slept. He stood quietly for a moment just inside the doorway, his eyes traveling about the room, stopping as they gazed upon the figure sleeping beneath a green satin coverlet. Raoul walked slowly across the floor, grateful for the chair that was next to the bed. He sank down upon the chair, as a hand reached out for the one that lay atop the coverlet. Raoul held to Christine's hand as he studied her pale face. He turned his head and looked toward the foot of the bed, seeing his wife's legs raised to a funny angle. Raoul turned once again to look at Christine's face, afraid to reach out to touch his child, afraid to cause any more hurt to the woman – the family – he loved.

"Dear God, Christine," he said softly. "What have I done?"

Christine only turned her head on her pillow, moaning slightly.

Raoul bent his head over the hand he held. "Will you ever be able to forgive me?"


	72. Chapter 72

**Chapter Summary: **Henri and Didier have a clandestine meeting with Inspector Rousseau. Christine awakes to find Raoul at her bedside, anger and guilt laying claim to both of their hearts and souls. And in England, Serge plays a musical love letter for Tallis.

_**Author's Notes:** Okay folks _**Tissue Issue**_ warning time. This chapter gets a bit weepy. Consider yourselves_ warned!

CHAPTER SEVENTY TWO

Two men stood shivering in the cold, deserted cottage. They stamped their feet, clapped gloved hands and drew their cloaks more tightly about woolen clothing. The weakening sun was beginning to set over the mountains in the distance, shadows both inside and out lengthening even as the temperature – both inside and out – dropped another half degree. In another hour or so it would be completely dark and the men would not be able to see the broken furniture scattered about them. They would not be able to see the horses they heard stamping from where they were hidden behind the cottage. The two men turned to look at each other, the same thought passing through both their minds – they would not be able to see anyone who may be lying in wait for them. It was a thought that chilled their hearts far more than any deepening winter evening.

"What is taking him so long?" Henri muttered through clenched teeth as he ventured a glance out a window, searching for that person whose request had drawn them to this isolated place.

"Are you certain the request for a meeting came from the inspectors?" Didier asked softly.

Henri's breathed, "Oh God!" broke the frightened silence that hung between the two friends.

Didier shook his head in resignation and perched on the edge of a rickety chair. "It is too late now to worry," he said. "We are trapped in these shadows. We cannot leave without being seen." He laughed, it was a sad sound. "We are a couple of children playing at the games of grown men. We have been stumbling around in the darkness, trying to piece together what we know, always staying one step ahead of our personal bogeyman." Didier cocked his head at Henri. "And now we may have fallen right into the clever trap our bogeyman has laid for us."

"No!" Henri replied angrily. "I will not believe that! If this should be a trap – I promise you – I shan't go down without a fight!" He crossed to Didier's side, laying a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. "And neither shall you!"

Didier's voice echoed sad and lonely about the cold cottage. "That is easy for you to say," he began. "You have not had to see what I have seen these many years. You have not had to witness the insanity that is hidden beneath the intelligence exuded by the clever. You have not seen how such a thing will slowly tear away the fabric of a life, a bit of a soul fading away with each passing day, each passing year. Suddenly there is nothing to answer the insanity but a new insanity born out of the desperation to remain whole." Didier raised his head. "Did you never wonder why I was only allowed to visit with my parents during those long summers? Did you never wonder why they were all too happy to see me escape to spend time with you and Raoul? I did! I wondered often!" Didier slowly rose to his feet. "And now I wonder no longer. The adult has pieced together what the child saw and it terrifies me beyond reason!"

"What if you are wrong?" Henri wondered. "What if I am correct in my assumptions?"

"Did I say I was terrified beyond reason?" Didier wondered and ran a gloved hand through tousled golden-red hair that glinted with fire from the rays of the setting sun. "If you are correct, than what chance do I have?" He grabbed Henri's arms. "What chance?"

Henri opened his mouth to comfort his friend, to give Didier a breath of hope, to let Didier know that what he feared could not possibly be so when a soft knock came at the door. Henri quickly closed his mouth and held up a hand, pointing to either side of the door. He saw Didier nod his understanding and both men separated, moving into the shadows that framed either side of the door. Henri drew a deep breath and held it as he heard the knock come for a second time and then a third. As the door slowly opened, Henri prayed that the element of surprise would be on his side.

"Gentlemen?" a familiar voice called softly.

Henri was the first to emerge from his shadowy hiding place. "Inspector," he breathed the relief evident in his voice.

Guy Rousseau turned around, a bit startled at the click of the door closing behind him. He drew a silent breath as he stared into the glittering eyes of Didier de le Censiere. "Were you planning on an ambush?" he wondered as he moved into the room, knowing he was turning his back on the two young men and hoping they would see it as a matter of trust.

"If needed," Henri replied and motioned for Didier to move forward.

"And with what were you planning to ambush me?" Guy asked as he turned to face the two men now standing before him. "Fists? The element of surprise?" He shook his head. "I can tell that neither of you are armed for you were hiding in the shadows upon my entrance. I must tell you that such an action is not wise given the present circumstances. You are playing with fire, gentlemen; and you must always prepare as if you know that, as if your very lives depended upon it." The inspector's tone of voice was stern. "For they do depend upon it."

"We know that," Didier said from between clenched teeth.

Henri laid an hand upon his friend's arm and turned his attention toward Guy. "Why did you request this meeting?" He moved his head, his gaze encompassing all four walls of the cottage. "And why here? Were you not taking as large a risk as we did?"

Guy nodded his head. "Yes," he replied, "I was taking a risk but it was a calculated risk upon my part. I needed you both to trust me." He held out his hands. "I, too, came unarmed."

"We are all playing a fool's game," Didier muttered bitterly.

"Then let us be fools together," Henri managed in a cheerful tone. "If I am to play games of chance with my very life, than I cannot think of more pleasing comrades to share in my game."

"No one need play any games," Guy insisted. "I came here with information we have received from one of the men that had a hand in abducting the Vicomte. The information comes via Inspector Menard in Grenoble."

"You interest me greatly," Henri said.

"I thought I might," Guy acknowledged and continued, "This is what we have been told: Louis Foucault was never in charge of what was done to your cousin. Nothing that was done was under his control – the abduction, the ransom, the mistreatment. He was simply following orders from another person."

"Dear God," Didier breathed and turned his head away.

Henri had sat with Raoul for hours before Christine had returned, listening to whispered horrors that had escaped from Raoul's lips, promising to keep his cousin's secrets. "Someone actually gave permission for all that torture to be inflicted?" Henri was angry and incredulous.

"No," Guy had to admit, "not all of it. The things that were done in the beginning were done under orders but what happened later was not done with permission. Those actions were all the result of Nico Mircea's madness."

Henri could hear Didier fumble for a chair in the dark and put it out of his mind for the moment. "What else have you discovered?"

"Your cousin was to have been put on a boat for an unknown destination. How long he would have been there, if he would have ever been released, is something that we still do not know. We have been trying to question Foucault and Mircea with little success. Amerlaine has given us all that he knows. Now is when we need your help."

Didier swallowed hard and answered before Henri could. "What do you need us to do?"

"It is asking much," Guy said, "but we need some form of solid proof as to what you have both conjectured." He turned toward Didier. "The powder you have given us is identical to what was given to the Vicomte but it is also available from any chemist and from numerous criminal sources. We cannot move without solid proof; especially where powerful families are concerned." He turned back to Henri. "I know that asking such a thing could very well place your own lives in danger but there is no other choice."

Henri and Didier were both silent for a moment.

"We think whoever it is may still go after my cousin." Henri frowned in the darkness. "Or his wife and unborn child and I cannot allow that to happen. I think I know of a way to get your proof." He felt a warm body at his elbow and turned to see Didier standing there.

"As do I," Didier said softly. "I hope you realize that what you are asking will not be easy for us to obtain and may require some small amount of time."

"I am aware of such," Guy told them. "This is what I have been given permission to say to you both: You have until the first of December to attempt to retrieve the proof that we need. Should you not be able to do so, we will move upon what we know and damn the consequences to all involved."

Henri held out a hand in the darkness and was surprised when the inspector clasped it. He smiled slightly as a third hand was placed over the clasp. "Enough lives have been destroyed, there need be no more," he said. "You will have your proof one way or the other."

"That is a promise," Didier finished.

"Thank you, gentlemen," Guy told them. "I only hope when these sorry events reach a just conclusion, your families will understand and appreciate the deceptions to which you have subjected them."

Deception was also upon Raoul's mind as he sat by Christine's bedside, holding lightly to her still hand. He prayed she would not be upset by the promise that Marie had broken. He was glad that Marie had sought him out, telling him the truth that his wife tried to keep from him. He was glad that, at least, one person did not feel the need to coddle and protect him. Raoul studied Christine's sleeping face, the way her dark lashes rested against her pale cheeks and wanted to be the one who protected her. He wanted to be her husband again and not her patient.

"Christine?" Raoul whispered as his wife moaned lightly, her free hand reaching for her child. He watched as her eyes fluttered open, her head turning toward him.

"Raoul?" Christine asked sleepily.

"You have been asleep all afternoon," Raoul told her, a smile on his lips.

Christine's free hand went to rub at her eyes. "Raoul?" she repeated and focused on the man holding her hand. "What are you doing here?" Christine asked as she turned her head, looking at the green silk above her.

"I came to keep my wife company," Raoul said evenly, trying desperately to keep the hurt from his voice.

"Who told you?" Christine wondered and sighed. "Marie." She turned her head toward the opposite side of the room away from Raoul. "Go away."

Raoul drew a deep breath, letting it out evenly as he fought to still his racing heart. "Yes, Marie told me," he said. "She told me everything. She is a true friend." He squeezed the hand he held. "And I am not going away."

"Please, Raoul," Christine pleaded with him, her head still turned. "Just go away."

"Christine…" Raoul began and stopped as Christine turned her head to look at him, her expression a mixture of anger and hurt.

"I am not going to do anything to your child!" Christine said, her nose wrinkling as she fought back tears. "I know how much you want this baby! I know that it is the only thing you want! I have never done anything to hurt this child and I would never do anything to hurt your baby! I promise you, I will see that you hold a live child in your arms! Now just go away and leave me alone!"

Now it was Raoul's turn to wear expressions of hurt and anger upon his face. "I would never …"

"Have you not heard one word I have said?" Christine asked, her voice beginning to rise with each word as months of pent-up emotion began to take control. "I know you do not want me anymore! I know that the only thing in this world you want is your baby! I know that you blame me for each and every scar you bear! Do you not think I blame myself? Do you not think I look at you and feel each and every one of the hurts they inflicted upon you? Do you not think my heart has been shredded by what those … those … bastards did to you?" Christine grabbed back the hand that Raoul held and pounded fists against the satin coverlet. "And what little of my heart they left whole, you finished shredding! How could you think I would be such a whore as to bed the men who hurt you? How could you think I would bed Erik? How could you? Do you really hate me that much?" A frustrated scream escaped Christine's lips. "And for you to think that I would do anything – anything! – to endanger this child is beyond comprehension! After all those months of holding me and promising me that I was not failing you, that a child did not matter, that you would love me no matter what – were they all lies? Were all your promises lies?" Christine turned to look back at her husband. "Were they?"

Raoul sat stunned by Christine's emotional outburst. "Christine … I … I …" he stammered and paused as Christine's eyes grew very wide and both hands reached for their child.

"Oh God," Christine breathed. "It hurts!" She arched her back and rolled slightly to her side. "It hurts!" she screamed between clenched teeth.

Raoul quickly rose to his feet, ignoring the room that suddenly spun before him, to sit on the bed beside Christine. His hands reached out for her, only to find Christine slapping them away.

"Leave me alone! Just leave me alone!" The tears were slipping down Christine's cheeks. "It hurts! Oh God, it hurts!"

"No! Not this time!" Raoul grabbed his wife's hands and held them still between his own. "I thought I lost you. I let you go once and I will not let you go again!" He moved his hands upward to hold Christine by the arms, pulling her to a sitting position and into his embrace. "I knew that day I would never see you again," Raoul said as he drew Christine's head to his shoulder, still feeling her fight him but unwilling to let go. "I let you go because I knew you would be happy again. I had to let you go but you came back. You came back and I am not going to lose you again!" He buried his head in her curls, whispering in her ear. "I would die if you left me!"

"I did die when you left me!" Christine retorted, her fingers pulling at Raoul's shirt as she worked through the pain in her side that was slowly beginning to ebb away. "And you are killing what little part of me came back to life! I love you! I have always loved you! I have never been unfaithful! My skin crawls when I think of any other man touching me! I love my husband and I want him back!" Christine tightened her arms about Raoul. "I just want my husband back," she finished forlornly before bursting in sobs. "Forgive me, Raoul! Please forgive me! I never meant to lie to you! I never meant to hurt you! I never meant …"

Raoul pulled his wife even closer, almost as if he were trying to pull her into himself so that she could see his heart beating and breaking. "I am so sorry, Christine," he interrupted her. "I should have listened that day. I should have stopped when I heard you calling out for me. I should have ignored my wounded pride. I never meant to hurt you like this! You are the best thing in my life! I love you more than you will ever know! Can you ever, ever forgive me?" Raoul's breath caught in his throat. "Oh God, Christine; please forgive me!"

They sat together on the bed, in each other's arms, desperately clinging to each other, to a lost marriage and a faint flickering beacon of hope far off in the distance. Each individual cry became a shared mourning. Each tiny touch became a rope thrown to a drowning soul. Each sigh became a breath of wind urging a storm-tossed boat to dry land. Each tear flowed into a flood that swept away guilt and recriminations and pain. Each beat of an individual heart became the underlying rhythm of a single melody, punctuated by tiny grace notes that nudged and poked and demanded attention.

It was Raoul who finally broke the healing silence. "Are you all right?" He asked softly. "Should I send for the doctor?" He held his breath as he waited for the answer to his next question. "Would you like me to leave?"

"Do not ever leave me again," Christine begged in an equally soft voice.

"I will stay as long as you want me to stay," Raoul told her, watching as Christine drew back, studying his face, searching his eyes.

"Forever, Raoul," Christine told him. "Promise me you will stay forever!"

Raoul looked at his wife's tear-stained cheeks and swollen eyes. He saw the fear and apprehension written in those eyes and knew it mirrored the fear and apprehension in his own. "I promise to stay forever if you will promise to love forever the fool that you married."

"Raoul!" Christine sobbed as she threw her arms about his neck and clung to him, not fighting him as Raoul wrapped his arms about her, once again drawing her into his embrace. Yet this time the tears were ones of healing, the embrace one of warmth.

"Are you certain you do not need a doctor?" Raoul asked again.

"I am certain," Christine said with a wavering smile as she drew back. She reached for one of his hands and placed it over their child. "Can you feel that? Those gentle little nudges?" Raoul nodded. "She is happy, I can tell. When she moves like that, so soft and easy, it means she is happy." Christine closed her eyes. "I cannot tell you how often I dreamed of moments just like this – seeing the light in your eyes as you traced the movement of our baby."

"You should go back to dreaming," Raoul said softly, waiting until Christine had reopened her eyes. "You should lay down and get some more rest and I will tell Marie to have something sent up for you to eat." He gave Christine a small smile. "You slept through Monsieur Corhei's visit and he left very strict instructions on what you were to eat and on what you were to do." Raoul shook his head. "He is a good man, Christine."

"Very good," Christine agreed and placed a hand on Raoul's cheek before turning her attention to the door. "Can you please ask Mathilde to send something up, I am very hungry." She looked briefly at Raoul. "Can you ask her to make it dinner for two?" Christine turned her attention back to Marie. "And I should be very angry with you."

Marie grinned. "But you are not because you know I am always correct in the end." She dropped a small curtsey. "I will back in a while with your dinners," Marie said and slipped out of the room, closing the door quietly.

"She is impossible," Christine sighed.

"But you will never find a better friend," Raoul told her.

Christine nodded her head. "I know, I know. I am so very thankful for her; you will never know just how thankful" She let out a deep sigh. "But I am tired and I do want to rest."

Raoul began to stand and felt himself tugged back to the bed.

"Please stay with me," Christine asked. "I do not want to let you out of my sight. And I just want to be held. Please hold me." Her chin trembled. "Please hold us!"

"I would like nothing better," Raoul told her as he leaned over and kissed her forehead. He waited until Christine had lain back down before joining her. He stretched his long frame out beside her, turning slightly toward Christine so that he could wrap his arms about her. Raoul smiled as Christine took one of his hands in her own and placed both hands over their child. "Tell me about my wife and child," he breathed into her ear and Raoul closed his eyes as he listened to the dulcet tones of his wife's voice carry him away.

And across the English Channel, far beyond the hustle and bustle of London, past sleepy little towns and villages, over the eerie stillness of moorland, another man and woman were contemplating being carried away.

"I am all packed save for a few articles I shall need in the coming days," Serge said as he crossed his fork and knife over his plate, signifying that he had finished his meal. "Those things I shall leave here and I trust you to see to their proper care." He looked at Tallis.

"As you would," Tallis answered, her voice holding none of the sparkle that Serge found so enchanting.

"You have barely touched your dinner, Fraulein," he said, glancing at the food that Tallis had moved from one place on her plate to another. Serge managed to turn his lips into a grin. "One would think that you did not like your own cooking and what does that say for me?"

Tallis finally looked up. "Pardon?" she asked. "Did you say that you did not like the dinner? I am sorry! I shall try to do better for the breakfast!"

"That was not what I said at all! The meal was excellent, as always." Serge dropped his napkin on the table, pushed back his chair and went to draw Tallis' chair out for her. Serge held out his hand, waiting until Tallis had taken it. "There is something that I wish for you to hear," he said. "I received it in the mail this morning." He patted her hand. "I am not the world's most talented musician but I think I can do this justice."

Tallis felt a stab of remorse pierce her heart at Serge's words but she nodded. "As you would," she replied, allowing Serge to lead her from the dining room.

They walked down the hallway and entered the front parlor where an upright piano held a place of honor against one wall. Serge guided Tallis to a wing chair that did not face the piano but looked out upon the gardens at the side of the house.

"You will be pleased to have a seat, Fraulein," Serge said, waiting until Tallis had done as he requested. Serge looked down into her face, the lifeless eyes, the sallow skin and prayed that he was doing the correct thing. The package had been addressed to Tallis, after all; but upon seeing from where it had come, Serge had opened it. He had taken one look at what was inside and in a moment had devised a plan that he had hoped would restore the life and vibrancy to the woman he felt privileged to call "friend". "A gift was delivered in the mail this morning and I was hoping you would give me your honest sentiments about it." Serge smiled. "I value your honesty," he reminded her.

"I cannot say that I can," Tallis answered him. "My honesty is sadly missing when it comes to music, I fear."

"I do not fear," Serge assured her and moved to the piano. He sat down upon the bench and slipped the leather from the pages that were spread out upon the piano. Serge drew a deep breath as he studied the ant-like black splotches that danced over the sheets. He placed his fingers above the keys, letting them drop slowly as they began to coax music from bits of ivory and ebony and lengths of wire. The melancholy music that began to fill the room lifted and began to move outward, dancing, seeking a partner. Serge did not dare take his eyes from the notes before him to see the expression upon his companion's face. His hands continued to play out the dance beneath them, slowing as the complicated melody softened, growing simple, the beauty swirling through the simplicity filling the room …

"Stop!" Tallis cried out.

Serge turned to see Tallis rise to her feet.

"Stop!" she cried again and stumbled forward a few steps, reaching out for the side table to steady herself.

"Tallis?" Serge said as he, too, rose to his feet.

Tallis kept her head down. "That was not for you," she said and sniffled. "I would know that music anywhere." She turned to look at Serge who stopped walking toward her. "That was for me. It was from Erik. It was the song he promised me." She stared at Serge as silent tears streaked down her cheeks. "I am correct, am I not?"

"Yes," Serge admitted softly.

"Why?" Tallis wondered as she turned her head back to stare down at fingers clenched about the edge of the table, their knuckles turning white.

Serge straightened his posture. "Because I had hoped hearing such a thing would make you change your mind. I had hoped that in this music you would be able to hear the love this man has for you. I had hoped you would accompany me back to Europe."

"You do not know what he is like," Tallis hissed.

"I know who he is," Serge said as he took a step forward. "I know he is a wanted man. I know that my cousin's wife and mother protect him." Serge continued walking slowly toward Tallis. "I know that he is extremely intelligent and talented." He stopped by Tallis' side, placing a hand on her hunched shoulder. "And I know that there must be good in him for you to love him so deeply."

"I cannot," Tallis whispered. "I just … I cannot."

"Love such as that expressed through the music that still lingers in every corner of this room comes along but once in a lifetime," Serge told Tallis in a gentle voice. "If you turn your back on such a gift, I do not believe you shall ever find it again." He sighed. "Please, Tallis!" Serge pleaded. "Do not allow your very life to slip away from you!"

There was a long silence in the room. The ghosts of a musical love letter hung in shadowed corners, watching and waiting expectantly. A mantle clock ticked loudly, measuring each breath, each heartbeat. November wind blown in from the Atlantic howled and pounded at the windows of Trevinny, demanding an answer. Finally that answer came.

"Yes," Tallis told Serge as she straightened and turned to look at him. "I will go back to Europe with you."


	73. Chapter 73

_**Author's Notes:** Okay folks _**Tissue Issue**_ warning time (again!). This chapter gets a bit weepy at the end. Consider yourselves warned!_

**Chapter Summary:** As November draws to a close, lives begin to resume familiar patterns. Arthur receives a strange warning from Henri. Raoul and Christine make plans to be in Paris when Val and Meg's baby is born. Didier and Monique have an unnerving confrontation. And Erik finds himself alone beneath the opera house, the ghost now being haunted by his memories.

CHAPTER SEVENTY THREE

The shadows of November slowly began extending their reach, deepening and darkening as the days lengthened and bitter cold air from the far reaches of the Russian steppes began to blow over Europe. The smells of summer – the pungent order of the cities and the fragrance of the country – gave way to the same aromatic smoke from burning logs that tingled both nose and throat. Summer linens and silks and cotton were resigned to the backs of closets and the bottom of trunks as heavier materials – silks and wool and furs – were taken out, aired and hung in wardrobes and on wall pegs. Pantries and larders were examined for the remains of canning from the previous summer even as the last fruits and vegetables from the current season were labeled for storage. Light clarets and white wines were given over in favor of stronger cabernets and richer ports. For the lucky who could afford them, country and beach homes were closed as the masses gravitated back to the glittering lights of the city and the promise of a new social season. Yet there were those who did not wish to see the bright possibilities of the new year looming on the horizon for they only wished to contemplate the dying dreams of the old. There were those who did not wish to ride in open sleighs buried under mounds of fur and thick blankets but only wished to survive the long trip across slippery roads and tumultuous seas. And there were those who did not seek to rejoin the crowded masses of the cities but only sought to remain in the security of a quiet country home.

"Did I ever say this was quiet?" Philippe asked as he looked up from the letters that he was signing, glaring at the ruckus going on just beyond the closed door of his study.

Arthur chuckled as Philippe turned to look at him. "I believe that was one of the many charms that you elaborated upon when we left Paris." Arthur held up a hand began to bend a finger with each "charm" he ticked off. "Quiet. Unhurried. Quiet."

Philippe held up a hand of his own. "Point taken," he laughed and shook his head. "How is it that with even the simplest of words and actions, you always manage to throw my life back into my face?"

"It is an acquired skill," Arthur told him with a smile as he rose to his feet. "I shall go and find out what is making all the noise and ask whomever it is to be a bit more discreet."

"Thank you," Philippe replied, a hand going to rub his forehead. "One would think that headaches would be a thing of the past. Yet I find that this attempt," he waved his hands about the work in neat piles upon his desk, "to catch up with everything that had been placed aside over these last months is truly taxing my thought processes and my patience." Philippe glared at his closed door. "And that is not helping!"

"Consider it resolved," Arthur replied with a nod and disappeared through the study door. He stood in the hallway for a moment listening, trying to locate the source of the sound that was so disturbing Philippe. He raised his eyes toward the ceiling as the sound of something heavy being dragged across the floor caught his attention. Arthur sighed and shook his head and began to walk to the front of the chateau, ready to climb the stairs to the second floor. He stopped at the bottom of the grand staircase as he caught sight of Henri bouncing down the stairs, a heavy coat over his arm. "Good morning, Henri," he said, causing Henri to stop in mid-bounce.

"Arthur," Henri acknowledged as he fixed a smile upon his face.

"Do you have any idea what is causing all the noise?"

Henri turned his head to look back at the stairs that wound upwards behind him before turning back to Arthur, the smile still on his face. "Charlotte and Desiree are having items moved about in preparation for the arrival of their husbands and children." Henri cleared his throat. "Is it disturbing someone?"

"Philippe is a bit put out by the noise but he shall get over it." Arthur took note of the fixed smile upon Henri's lips and the way his long fingers fiddled nervously in and out of the folds of the coat that hung over his arm. "Could you spare a moment before you go to wherever it is you are going to speak with me?"

"Certainly," Henri replied in a chipper tone of voice that did not fool Arthur and followed him into a small parlor, perching lightly upon the arm of an overstuffed sofa, one leg swinging idly back and forth.

Arthur closed the door and turned to look at Henri, his eyes narrowing slightly at the practiced air of nonchalance in which Henri had wrapped himself. Arthur walked slowly across the room to stand before Henri.

"You are keeping me from a day of debauchery with Didier," Henri said with a smile. He laughed, placing a single finger over his mouth. "That was a clever bit of alliteration on my part, do you not think?"

"Just stop it!" Arthur hissed between clenched teeth. "Just stop it, Henri!" He drew a deep breath that he let out slowly, trying to calm his anger. "You may be able to fool your family but you are not fooling me! What are you doing? What game are you playing?" Arthur's eyes began to glint dangerously. "If you are contemplating anything that will bring harm to any member of this family …"

"I would never hurt any member of this family!" Henri exclaimed in a shocked tone of voice. He was silent for a moment before rising to his feet. He leaned toward Arthur, bringing his head very close to the other man's ear. "And if you value your life, you will stay out of this," Henri whispered and swept from the room.

Arthur could only stare after Henri as he strode across the room, opening and slamming the door closed behind him.

While the drama played out between Henri and Arthur on the first floor of the huge chateau, on the second floor – amidst the noise and racket of women rearranging rooms – a small oasis of peace could be found in a parlor in the east wing. Four people sat upon two sofas that faced each other, a table between the sofas upon which rested a china tea service and bowls of dried fruit and plates of small pastries.

"When must you go back?" Christine wondered as she looked at Meg and drew her husband's arm about her shoulders.

Meg sighed. "The first of December," she replied.

"But … but …" Christine stammered as she looked up at Raoul. "That is only four days away!" She returned her attention to Meg. "Can you not stay longer?"

"I wish we could," Meg said softly and cast down her eyes.

Val reached over and lightly clasped his wife's hand. "My mother is venturing forth from the hinterlands of the German border to spend a few months with us in Paris." He managed a slight grin as Meg turned to him, a look of pained resignation upon her face. "She is expecting us to be there."

"And we have not yet told her about the baby," Meg finished, her head shaking back and forth. "She is going to be utterly impossible about this! Just … impossible! She is going to be demanding a hand in raising our baby. She is going to want to be in the room with me when the baby is born. She is … she is going to be impossible!"

"Maybe it will not be as bad as all that," Val offered in a gentle tone.

Christine looked to Raoul and nodded. "Perhaps, I can be there when your baby is born."

Meg's head shot up. "What?" She glanced quickly at Val who was as startled as she before turning back to Christine. "You would do that for me?"

"Our baby is due in only a few weeks and I think with such a thing only recently behind me and being your sister, that gives me rights and privileges that your mother-in-law does not have." Christine winked at Meg.

Val was a bit more somber than his wife as he looked at Raoul. "Ah, but will you be ready to return to Paris by May?" he wondered. "You know what is going to happen the moment anyone sees you there – it is going to be circus! Everyone will want to see you. Everyone will want to see the baby. There will be a constant stream of people knocking upon your door. Are you sure you will be ready for such a thing?"

"No," Raoul admitted, smiling at Christine as she lightly squeezed the hand that rested upon her shoulder. "I am not sure of much of anything at the moment but I know I cannot hide away here – no matter how much I may wish to do so. There have all ready been so many letters and well wishes that I am surprised the mail coaches between here and Paris have not succumbed beneath their weight!" He smiled at the sound of Christine's giggles. "I know my family has been shielding me from the most prying of the letters; people cannot help being inquisitive."

"Damn annoying is how I would put it," Val told him.

"If I was not trying to remember my manners that is exactly how I would have phrased it!" Raoul replied and sat up a bit straighter. "No, I cannot hide behind the walls of Chagny forever and Christine and I have all ready discussed it; we will be in Paris when your child is born. Our baby will be nearly six months old by that time and I need to see my home, to thank my staff, to … to … to resume my life."

"Plus," Christine interrupted him with a smile, "we have begun the process to purchase the home in Bolougne." She looked at Val and Meg. "And after your baby is born, we are going to go and spend some time there." She settled into Raoul's side, a happy sigh escaping her lips as Raoul kissed the top of her head. "No one save our closest family knows where it is and we can go there and just be a family – just the three of us. We can take the baby for long walks along the beach and spend hours in the garden and …"

Meg smiled at Christine. "It seems like you have made a great many plans."

"It is a start."

Raoul nodded his agreement. "We have begun but we both know we still have much work to do."

"Oh, I predict a happy ending for all involved!" Meg enthused.

Christine winced and sat up.

Raoul was suddenly all worried attentiveness. "What is wrong?"

"Nature is calling," Christine said as she began to push herself up from the sofa. Meg rose and reached for Christine's hands, helping her the rest of the way to her feet. "I love our baby and I love carrying her but I am so very thankful that your ancestors had the foresight to install baths! I do not think I would be able to manage the stairs as frequently as I would need!" She turned slightly and placed a hand on Raoul's shoulder. "I shall be back in a few moments."

"I will go with you," Meg said and walked with Christine to the door. "Does it ever stop?" she wondered as the door closed behind them.

"Raoul," Val whispered urgently, drawing his companion's attention from the closed door. "Are you sure that leaving Chagny is quite safe?" Val shook his head grimly. "I know they have the men who took you locked away but what about the one who planned it?" Val had been privy to the news that had been coming from the inspectors. "Can you rest assured that he will not try again with different criminal elements? Can you take that risk? Can you allow Christine and your child to take that risk?"

Raoul's eyes closed and his complexion paled as he struggled with the memories of his captivity. "I cannot hide forever," he said softly as his eyes opened. "I have lost too much of my life to those bastards and I will not allow them to take anymore of it." A half-smile curled his lips. "In fact, it was Christine who suggested we return to Paris; for she wishes to be there to support Meg as Meg has supported her. It was also Christine who said we should purchase the house in Bolougne. She was correct; no one save family knows where it is and we can be safe there."

"Can you really?" Val worried.

Raoul shrugged. "As safe as we can be without continuing to hide from the world."

The world from which Raoul and Christine still hid was also hiding others – sheltering some, exposing others – all the while drawing each and every soul toward a destiny they could not picture in even their most fevered dreams.

Didier stood in the center of the upstairs hallway at Cote de Vallee, his hands on his hips, lips twisted in a frown. "Oh bother," he muttered.

Xavier chuckled as he exited the door to his bedroom and heard the words that passed from his young cousin's lips. "My dear boy," he laughed. "If you are to curse, you shall need to come up with a better oath than that!"

"Well, what would you?" Didier wondered as he held up his arms, the cuffs of his sleeves flapping open. "I cannot find a single pair of cufflinks that suit me this morning!" His brow creased. "Henri and I are going to the inn and Arlette does so love little things that sparkle in the low light."

Xavier continued to laugh lightly to himself. "The things the young will do to entice a comely woman onto their lap!" His laughter grew louder at the pained look that crossed Didier's face. "I was young once, as well," Xavier reminded him. "I have not forgotten the tricks!"

Didier's eyes grew very wide. "You shall have to tell me your tricks some time, sir," he breathed. "I am sure they are far more sophisticated than any poor attempts I may make!"

"No, I am afraid I cannot for I am beyond those years," Xavier replied, his look softening. "They stopped the day Monique agreed to become my wife and I have never looked back." He reached out to lay a hand on Didier's arm. "Enjoy your youth while you can, my lad, for all too soon the cares of adulthood shall intrude upon the gaiety."

"Ah, but you are still planning on the gaiety of a season in Paris," Didier smirked.

Xavier was a bit stunned. "I do believe you just set me up and knocked me down."

Didier held his breath.

"And just for that," Xavier continued and nodded at the closed door of his bedroom, "you may go in and borrow the cufflinks of your choosing. Just remember not to lose them in any games of chance." He winked at Didier as the young man walked toward the closed door. "Let me rephrase that – do not lose them in any games of chance that do not involve the affections of a comely young lady."

"Thank you sir," Didier grinned. "I shall do my best."

"Oh, I am quite certain of that!" Xavier's laughter echoed behind him as he walked down the hallway, disappearing around the corner and down the main staircase.

Didier drew a deep breath and opened the door to Xavier's bedroom, moving quickly across the room to the highboy against the far wall. He knew from childhood days spent watching his cousin prepare for the day's business that all of Xavier's jewelry was kept in velvet boxes in the highboy. Didier began to open the drawers, looking in to each and every box inside each and every drawer. His thin fingers pulled out a pair of amber cufflinks that he knew would reflect the low light of the inn as well as the amber color of his eyes. Didier placed the cufflinks atop the highboy and continued his search, careful to replace each and every box in its original place so that no one would know that he had been scavanging through the drawers. Didier knew what Henri had told him to look for and he grew more and more frustrated as he could not find the small item. He finally closed the last drawer and sighed in disgust as he took the cufflinks from the top of the highboy. Didier turned around as he slipped the second cufflink into place, fastening the clip that would secure the cufflink to his sleeve, and raised his eyes, a gasp of surprise escaping his lips as he found Monique standing before him.

"What are you doing?" she asked softly, her expression one of displeasure that was colored by an emotion Didier could not place.

"I am getting the cufflinks that Xavier said I could borrow," Didier told her with more courage than he felt.

"By searching each and every drawer?" Monique asked and shook her head. "I have been standing here watching the whole time. What is it that you think are doing taking such liberties?"

Didier drew himself up, surprised that his shaking legs could hold his body weight. "I did not any liberties, madame," he retorted. "I had permission."

Monique's eyes flashed violet fire. "I doubt you had liberties for the scene that I just witnessed!"

Didier paused but a moment before taking his life in his hands and grabbing Monique by the arms, pulling her toward him. "Should you say one word," he began.

Monique angrily shrugged herself out of Didier's grasp. "I would never say a word to do anything to disillusion my husband," she retorted.

"Very wise," Didier shot back and began to walk past the angry woman who stood before him. He found his progress stopped as a hand reached out to grab his arm, fingers closing about it, nails digging into his flesh. "I would advise you to let me go," Didier said as he turned to his head to look at Monique, the breath catching in his throat.

"And I would advise you," Monique said softly in a sweet voice that chilled Didier to the bone, "to carefully consider any future actions." Her eyes narrowed slightly, giving her the look of a predator hunting its prey. "Even as you watch, you are being watched." Monique released her grip on Didier. "Do not forget that, sir!"

Didier suddenly remembered his feet and moved quickly from Xavier's bedroom, his breath coming ragged and uneven as he descended the main staircase. He paused momentarily at the front door as the valet handed him his coat. Didier quickly grabbed the coat from the man's hands and shrugged into it as he left through the front door, not even pausing to allow the valet to open it for him. Didier stood for a moment on the front portico, drawing deep breaths of chilled air, steadying his nerves, waiting for his racing heart to slow. A cough from lungs that protested the sudden chill that invaded their warm halls brought Didier back to his senses and he walked down the stairs to the horse that awaited him. He took the reins from the stableboy and lifted himself into the saddle, guiding his horse down the front drive. As Didier and his mount paused at the turn onto the main road, he encountered Henri and his mount at the corner.

"What is wrong?" Henri asked as he took note of his friend's pale face.

"Now it is my turn to ask you to get me out of here," Didier said as he turned his horse onto the main road, waiting as Henri swung his mount around.

"With pleasure," Henri replied.

Pleasure of another kind was all that Erik could find as he walked morosely about what was left of his lair. It was a bittersweet emotion as he glanced at what still remained after the destructive mob and the inquisitive gendarmes. He walked slowly through the rooms; eyes once again acclimated to the dim shadows, hands touching memories of a different time, a more powerful time, a time when he held sway and none would dare to go against him. Now everything lay in ruins from the charred roof of the opera house to the moldy, trampled remains of the man who had once been the Opera Ghost.

Erik's hands ran over the metal of the swan bed, his eyes looking at the worm-eaten red silk, the black lace that hung in tatters, seeing them as they were in another time. He closed his eyes, drawing a hand to his chest, feeling the way Christine had felt in his arms – so light, so warm, so innocent. Erik's fingers closed about the sculpted feathers; how could he have let her go? How could he have allowed her to slip through his fingers for a second time? How could he … Erik's eyes opened, his fingers unclenching, a disgusted sigh escaping his lips as he took note of the green verdigris from the metal. He wiped his hand against his black pants, not caring about the streak that appeared on the black linen. "I let her go because she asked me," he whispered to the encompassing shadows. "I let her go because I loved her too much to do otherwise."

He took a few steps down into the main room of the darkness that he had called home for so many years. Erik stopped as he looked around, sighing, struggling to find something to reclaim. A single foot kicked out at a moldy pile of something that he was sure had once been his drawings. Erik coughed as the papers scattered along the floor, a trail of dust mites and other unmentionables following in their wake. "Useless," he muttered grimly. "Utterly, utterly useless." A small part of Erik's mind wondered whether he meant the mess on the stones or the mess in his heart; Erik quickly silenced the thought.

Erik took another few steps toward his organ, pausing beside the bench, carefully brushing away the accumulated dust and debris. He sat down and straightened his back as his fingers poised themselves over the keys. Erik closed his eyes and granted a modicum of control to his conscious thought. His fingers began to move over the keys, memory of notes indelibly imprinted upon his soul, coming forth – unbidden – from his fingertips. Erik played in silence for a long moment before his fingers curled and his eyes opened. A part of him wished to smash his hands down upon the keyboards but Erik found he could not do so for the organ had been his true friend for too many years. "The music is dead for both of us, dear friend," he whispered softly as he turned on the bench to stare out over his domain. "There shall be nothing but silence from this moment forth."

Erik rose to his feet and walked toward the water, pausing just at the edge. He stared down at the ghost of a man staring back at him. A toe reached into the water, stirring the still liquid, taking the image and changing it, shaping a different image from the deep recesses of Erik's mind. Suddenly he was no longer look at himself but at the image not of an angel but an all too human being. He found himself staring into gray eyes that glittered like the stars he had once watched from a midnight garden. Erik removed the tip of his boot from the water and sat down on the damp rocks, placing both feet into the water, through the face of the woman, scattering her to the shadows of his lair.

"Silence," Erik whispered to the darkness. "Nothing but silence."


	74. Chapter 74

**Chapter Summary: **As Serge and Tallis return to France, Serge makes Tallis confront the truth within herself that she does not wish to acknowledge aloud. Philippe finds joy in the resumption of the normal habits of his life. He invites Monique and Xavier to Chagny for a going away party. Raoul has a request for Christine as they continue on the road to rebuilding their lives. And somewhere, someone decides that it is now time to tear down that which is being rebuilt.

CHAPTER SEVENTY FOUR

He had seen to the transfer of their luggage from the ferry to the train station. He had carefully counted each trunk, each carpetbag, each leather valise to assure himself that nothing had been left behind or overlooked. He had paid well for the attention to detail that his upbringing demanded, all the while fighting down the urge to smile at the image of his stern father nodding in approval. He had telegraphed family in Paris apprising them of his imminent return. He had also telegraphed the friend of his traveling companion to let her know that they were returning. He had shaken his head sadly as he turned from the telegraph window; catching a glimpse of the forlorn figure of his companion. He had composed himself as he approached her, taking her lightly by the elbow, guiding her through the crowded station and toward their train; he could only hope they would be in time.

Now Serge sat across from Tallis in the private train car he had hired, perusing the local paper but surreptitiously watching the woman across from him. She was dressed in a simple gray coat that matched the dress she wore beneath. He had insisted that both coat and dress were too light for the Channel crossing but it had been to no avail. A state of numbness had crept over Tallis since the day he had played Erik's music to her and now she seemed to move and exist in a world of her own. She had turned inward at the very moment, surrendering to the love and pleading that Serge had coaxed from the piano keys. Tallis found she could not resist Erik's unspoken words and had agreed to return to France with Serge. Now she was a shell of her former self, her soul buried so deep that Serge was not sure she would ever be able to find it again; yet, if she was unable to do so, someone else would have to try. Serge knew he would at least attempt to draw forth the woman who he had so quickly grown to like. He carefully folded the paper he could not read and placed it on the seat next to him, placing his hands in his lap.

"Fraulein?" he tried. "Tallis?" he said upon not receiving an answer smiling with his eyes as Tallis finally turned her head to look at him. "Is there anything I may get for you?" Serge wondered, hoping to draw Tallis out of herself. "Tea, perhaps?"

"No, thank you," Tallis replied softly. "I should be doing that for you." She began to rise to her feet only to find Serge reaching for her hands, urging her back down.

"I am fine," Serge said. "It is you that I am worried about. You have been terribly silent for nearly the last week."

Tallis lowered her eyes to look at the fingers that played nervously in the folds of her skirt. "I have nothing to say."

"I do not believe that is so," Serge replied gently. There was nothing but silence in response. "Tallis, I wish you would not consider me your employer but your friend."

That caught Tallis' attention and she raised her head again. "I do consider you my friend!"

Serge inclined his head in polite acknowledgement. "Then as your friend, will you promise not to take offense if I speak what is in my heart?" He watched as Tallis swallowed hard and nodded her head. "_Danke_." Serge drew a deep breath before continuing. "I do not know much of this man you profess to love. I know what the papers say of him – the Opera Ghost – the man responsible for the destruction of an entire opera house and the lives of innocent people. I do not know what it is that can drive a man to such madness. Perhaps he received great mistreatment at the hands of those who should have protected him as a child. Perhaps – like King Ludwig of Bavaria – it is a combination of passion and intelligence that is too great for the mind of one man." Serge shrugged his shoulders. "Perhaps he is just mad." He was silent for a moment as he watched Tallis wince at his words before once again composing her features. "If you truly believed he was mad, you would not be in sitting in this car with me, _ya_?"

Tallis shook her head as her chin trembled. "I do not even know what it is I think anymore."

"Honesty, Fraulein," Serge prodded. "You must be honest with me and more importantly you must be honest with yourself."

Tallis turned her head toward the window. "I cannot … I … I … cannot," she whispered as a single tear slipped from the corner of her eye to trace downward over her pale cheek.

"Then allow me to tell you," Serge replied, a sigh in his voice as he leaned back in his seat, crossing his legs. "Once in every lifetime the good God grants us the chance to find the other part of our soul. Unfortunately, it may not always be as we picture our own soul. We may see ourselves as noble and generous and pious and loving. Yet there is always that in our soul that is not pleasant to look at. It may be dark and ugly. It may be jealous and possessive. It may be bitter and angry but it is there and we cannot deny it as much as we would wish. And that is why I believe God has created someone for each and every one of us to love. That is the person who is truly our other half. They are the one whom we look at and see either the best or the worst of ourselves. They are the ones who either lift us up or whom we lift up. They are the mirror into our own souls that allow us to see that which all of us would prefer to keep hidden and such a sight allows us to become better. It allows us a further step on the narrow road that shall finally lead us to God." Serge frowned slightly as Tallis turned to look at him. "And if we pass up such an opportunity, then we are fools indeed and deserve the just punishment that shall meet us at the end of our days."

"I am here with you, am I not?" Tallis wondered. "What more do you require of me?"

"If I have to tell you, then it is of no use."

There was a potent silence in the train car punctuated by the clacking of wheels upon tracks. Serge watched as Tallis finally set her lips into a taut line and closed her eyes.

"I love him," Tallis began. "Is that what you wanted to hear? I love him and I do not care what it is that he has done. I love the frightened little boy he keeps so well hidden. I love the unsure man who wants what he thinks he cannot have. I even love the monster that frightens so many others! I love all of him," she finished softly before opening her eyes. "And I made the biggest mistake in my life by letting him go. Which one of us does that make the fool – me for letting him go or him for allowing it to happen?"

"You," Serge said softly.

"Do you not think I know that?" Tallis nearly shouted, her expression one of pain and longing.

Serge allowed a slight smile to turn up the edges of his lips. "Honesty always hurts, dear friend." He gave Tallis a moment to compose herself. "Now, what are you going to do about this mess that you created?"

"That is brutal honesty," Tallis said as she took a gloved hand and wiped at the tears she refused to cry.

Serge bowed slightly from his waist. "It is my upbringing. My father treated us with – as you say – brutal honesty and demanded nothing less from us in return." Once again, Serge settled back in his seat. "That still does not answer my question – what are you planning on doing?"

Tallis sniffled. "I am going to find him and I am going to do whatever I need to bring him back to me." Her sad expression took on an air of grim determination. "I do not care what it takes," Tallis stated. "I do not care if I have to make a complete fool of myself and throw myself at his feet. I do not care if I have to beg!"

"And if he no longer wants you?" Serge wondered aloud.

"Then you shall need to find another housekeeper for I cannot live without him." Tallis was silent for moment. "I cannot live without him," she admitted. "And if he no longer wants me then I shall find the most distant convent possible and there I shall live out my years. I shall spend the rest of my life doing penance for throwing away the greatest gift that God ever gave me," Tallis finished softly and turned her gaze out the window to look over the cold winter landscape.

Serge watched Tallis, a million thoughts running through his mind. He did not dare intrude upon the emotional chaos that he had forced Tallis to bring to light. So Serge closed his own eyes, struggling with his own thoughts. He buried thoughts of Ilse that always seemed so close to the surface back deep within the dark recesses of his mind, knowing that he, too, would have to deal with a love that seemed just beyond reach. He thought of Erik and the greatness that the world might never see. He thought of Tallis and the love that might be lost forever. And Serge thought of all the possibilities that the two of them – Tallis and Erik – could bring forth if only they could reach beyond the hurt. Serge sent up a silent prayer that God would give each of them the strength to extend arms and hearts and souls to bridge the hurt. He could not do otherwise for the thought of what might be lost was nearly too great to bear.

Another type of loss was on the minds of three friends gathered around a small table, enjoying an early breakfast. They sat patiently as the maid gathered the remains of their meals, placing the fine china on a serving tray before handing it to another maid. The coffee service was left on the table as the girls gave slight smiles to the three people seated at the end of a table meant for larger gatherings. A final smile was given from the first maid as she disappeared behind the door that led to the butler's pantry and the kitchen beyond.

"That was very pleasant," Philippe said as he placed his napkin on the place where his plate had recently rested. He nodded as Monique poised the coffeepot above his cup. Philippe nodded and waited until Monique was pouring coffee for Xavier before he took a sip of the hot liquid.

"It was and it is," Xavier agreed. "I cannot remember the last time you were here to share a meal with us."

"I can," Philippe frowned.

"Xavier," Monique whispered between clenched teeth.

"It is all right," Philippe told them. "Things are slowly returning to normal and every little familiar thing that is once again done is just another step to having things are they once were."

"That is a relief!" Xavier sighed with a roll of his eyes. "I have been so worried about saying or doing the wrong thing. I have been guarding my tongue and watching my actions for I have no desire to make things any more difficult then they all ready are." A sheepish look crossed his face. "It is good to know that you can still overlook the error of my ways."

"We have been friends for over thirty years," Philippe reminded him. "If after all that time, we cannot say what we feel before each other, then…" Philippe shrugged his shoulders. "I do not know." He laughed. "I am making no sense, whatsoever!"

"Neither of us are," Xavier told him. "One would almost think we were Henri and Didier after one of their afternoons spent carousing at the inn."

"We never did anything like that," Philippe said in a somber tone, the twinkle in his eyes belying his words.

"Never," Xavier agreed with a nod, the twinkle in his eyes matching Philippe's.

"Remind me never to gossip about the two of you behind my fan," Monique said quietly, her eyes downcast.

"Caught out," Xavier sighed.

"Indeed," Philippe grimaced. "I have a feeling it may cost us more than a season in Paris to keep our secrets behind that beautiful fan." He exchanged a blank look with Xavier before both men burst into laughter. It was an infectious sound that even drew Monique in, her hand going over her mouth as she fought to control her own laughter. Philippe was not so lucky and he pushed his chair back from the table, reaching for his side, trying desperately to catch his breath. "Oh God," he finally breathed. "I do not think I can remember the last time I laughed that hard!"

"It is wonderful to hear again," Xavier told him, a smile in his eyes as he turned to his wife. "Thank you," he mouthed to her."

Monique inclined her head to him before turning to Philippe. "It is indeed wonderful to hear you laugh like that." She sighed. "It is something I know we shall both miss when we go to Paris."

The mood in the room sobered immediately.

"Must you go now?" Philippe asked. "There is going to be so much happening here over the next few months! Desiree and Charlotte's families are coming and I do not know the last time either of you saw their children. And there shall be a new baby at Chagny in a few weeks – do you not wish to be here when it is born?"

"I should very much like to stay here," Xavier told him, "but Monique wishes the gaiety and bright lights of the big city and I find there is nothing I can do to dissuade her."

Philippe turned his attention to Monique, opening his mouth but stilled by the slight shake of her head.

"Please try to understand," she began as she reached for and found her husband's hand. "You are going to have a whole house full of family who are all going to want to gather round Raoul and Christine and that is only to be expected. I know that you consider us family but I think it would be far better to allow your sisters and their families some quiet time with you and Raoul. Then before you know it Christine will be having her own child and I think that Raoul and Christine deserve some quiet time alone with their child. They have more than earned such a thing; do you not think? Not to mention that once they make plans to return to Paris, they shall not have a single moment of peace! If Xavier and I spend the winter in Paris, perhaps we can help to alleviate some of the chaos that will attend Raoul and Christine once they return."

Philippe thought silently for a moment, beginning to nod his head. "That could prove quite helpful," he acknowledged. "You have seen the all the calling cards and letters. Damned nosy folks who have nothing better to do with their lives," he grumbled before brightening. "You could spread the word of how Raoul has been recovering, how he and Christine are happy and looking forward to their child. You could even say that they are expected back sometime in the spring."

"We could put some of the more salacious rumors to rest," Xavier agreed and turned to his wife. "What say you, my dear? Would you care to be the fount of wisdom against the harpy gossip of the season?"

Monique favored her husband with a broad smile. "I should like that, very much!"

"Consider it done," Xavier said as he returned his attention to Philippe. "But I am so going to miss a quiet winter here in the country. It has been a few years since I have spent a season in Paris and even the thought of the clamor wearies me to the bone! I fear I am going to find myself dozing off at the most inopportune moments. Can you imagine me snoring in the midst of the climactic aria?"

Philippe smirked. "Better one of us than both of us!"

"Do men ever mature beyond their adolescent years?" Monique asked no one in particular.

"No," Philippe and Xavier replied in unison before laughing once again.

"On a more serious note," Philippe said, drawing the attention of his friends. "I have been asked to invite you both to a celebratory farewell dinner before you leave; it is a specific request from Raoul and Christine. Their friends, Meg and Val, are leaving on the first of December – two days before you are scheduled to depart. They would like to have everyone gathered about for one last meal. I cannot honestly say that Raoul will be able to manage the stairs but we could have dinner upstairs with him." Philippe rolled his eyes. "Goodness knows my sisters are all ready rearranging every single piece of furniture on that floor. What would be one more room?" There was a long silence. "Please say yes," Philippe pleaded. "Do not make me go home empty handed!"

"Of course we shall be there!" Xavier told him and turned to his wife, catching her nod of approval, before turning back to Philippe. "It shall be one large gathering to celebrate all that lies before us!"

Yet there were those who still found it difficult to let go of the past to see the possibilities that the future held. There were those who were haunted by events beyond their control. They struggled to move beyond the shadows, beyond themselves, the fight sapping a bit more of their strength with every stride they made forward. Each of them struggled and stumbled and fell. Each of them would claim little victories in the greater war. Ultimately each of them would have to choose their final battle. One had chosen to surrender, giving in to a war he no longer had the desire to fight, allowing the war to continue to rage about him, without him. The other had chosen to continue to fight no matter how many times he fell on the field of battle. He had made the difficult choice to listen to the voices about him that continuously urged him back to his feet. He knew he stumbled and would take two steps backward for every step forward. He was all too aware of the desire – the need - to give up and give in; yet, he could not for there were those who were depending upon him, who needed him. And that knowledge was what had seen him through his darkest days and would continue to see him through all the days yet to come.

"I just … I just…" Raoul shook his head sadly and stared at his trembling hands. "I do not wish to speak about it." His eyes closed and he felt two hands clasp to his own, warm and soft. "Please, Christine," he pleaded. "Please try to understand."

Christine sighed and smiled even though she knew that Raoul could not see it. "As you wish," she began softly. "But when you have these nightmares and you cry out, it frightens me. I only want to make it better for you."

"I wish you could," Raoul replied as he raised their hands to his cheek, leaning in to them, seeking comfort. "I wish you could take away the nightmares and the memories." There was a cry in his voice. "Oh God, I wish it was that simple! I wish that there was a way to make these last months just disappear!"

Christine sighed and rested her head against her husband's. They had been sitting in one of the upstairs parlors, Christine reading while Raoul rested quietly by her side. Christine's attention had been drawn from her book as Raoul begin to moan softly. She had turned to look at him, watching as an expression of pain crossed his face, sweat beginning to bead on his forehead. She had placed her book on the table beside the loveseat and moved slightly out of the way. It broke her heart to seemingly leave Raoul to work through his nightmare alone but after having received several blows, as Raoul would awaken, Christine had learned to stay away from flailing arms and hands. And she had no wish to once again see the pain and guilt in Raoul's eyes that she had seen the first time Raoul had realized he had struck her in his sleep. "I wish there were, as well," Christine told him. "I wish there was something – anything! – I could do to make up in some small way for all that you have suffered." Christine saw a strange look cross her husband's face. "What?" she asked, a nervous smile passing over her lips.

Raoul lowered their hands. "I have missed so much, Christine," he stated the obvious. "I have lost months! I have missed summer afternoons riding with Philippe. I have missed evenings surrounded by friends." He laughed slightly. "I have even missed the occasional afternoon with Henri and Didier at the local inn." The laughter diminished to be replaced by deep sorrow. "But what I miss the most is everything we have lost. I miss watching you in the garden among the flowers, the sun shining off your hair. I miss hearing you hum those little tunes that I do not recognize when you are happy. I have missed the quiet times like this when we just sit together without any words needing to be spoken." Raoul released Christine's hands and placed one over their child. "I missed hearing from your lips the fact that we were finally going to be parents. I missed seeing the light in your eyes the day you felt our child move for the first time. I have missed laying awake at night, holding you, as we made plans for our future." Raoul ran a still trembling hand down his wife's cheek. "I can barely remember what it is like to dream of the future, any future," he sighed, "a future with you."

Christine was silent for a moment as she fought with all the conflicting emotions that these moments with Raoul would bring forth. She had never expected to feel apprehension and fear and anger around Raoul and had only begun to learn how to reconcile those feelings with the man she had married. Instead Christine placed a gentle smile on her face. "I still remember what it is like to dream of a future with you, growing old with you. I have kept those memories in trust for both of us," she moved Raoul's hand over the child that was demanding its share of the attention, "for your baby. And you know I would do anything you ask of me. What is that you want Raoul? Just tell me! I would move heaven and earth and even hell itself to make you happy!"

"Not hell, Christine!" Raoul whispered. "Please not hell."

"I am sorry," Christine whispered back, biting her lip, worried that she had again crossed a line that Raoul would not tell her about. She drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Tell me what is you want." Christine found herself entangled in the desperate need in her husband's blue eyes.

"I want to be there when our child is born."

Christine was puzzled. "You will be here! You will be with Philippe and …"

"I want to be with you when our child is born," Raoul interrupted.

"What?" Christine blurted out.

"Please!" Raoul pleaded. "I have missed everything about our child's life. I have missed being there to support you. I do not want to miss anything else! I do not want to miss my child's first cry! I want to be there to support you, to help you as you have helped me!"

"Raoul … I …" Christine stammered.

"Please, Christine, do not make me beg!"

"I was not going to do any such thing!" Christine insisted and cupped Raoul's face in her hands. "I know it is not done or proper but I would like nothing better than to have you beside me." Her smile wavered a bit. "I am frightened of what bringing this child into the world entails. I am afraid of the pain and the time it will take. I am terrified that something will go wrong. And should you be at my side, I do not think I should be quite as frightened." Her eyes twinkled and her smile grew stronger. "I think we would even be able to convince Monsieur Corhei to allow such a thing; he is very forward in his thinking."

"He is going to be a perfect replacement for Senor Gallardo," Raoul admitted and an unsure look passed over his face. "Are you certain Christine?"

Christine leaned slightly forward, placing a kiss on Raoul's forehead before leaning her own against it. "I have never been more certain of anything in my life." She rubbed her nose against Raoul's and laughed softly. "Other than the fact that I love you beyond any mere word could ever say."

Raoul wrapped his arms about his wife and buried his head in the crook of her neck. "I do love you," he breathed into Christine's ear. "It is the one certainty I know beyond a doubt - I love you. God, how I love you!"

God and doubts and certainties were on the mind of the person who sat motionless in the dark, forgotten room in the corner of a large basement. The person sat surrounded by stacks of letters wrapped in blue ribbons, other stacks neatly bound by plain string. Apothecary jars in various shades lined a shelf, their contents meant to hurt or heal depending upon the mood of the dispenser. An antique chest stood open in a corner, small chests resting inside, the earthy odor of fermented leaves wafting upward. The only sound in the room came from fingers being drummed upon a dust-covered secretary.

"Time," the person whispered. "There is no more time." Fingers stopped drumming and curled into a fist. "It is time to strike." The person was certain, no doubts left in a mind clouded by years of seeing that which was not there and seeing that which was. An open palm slammed down upon the secretary.

"God no longer needs to wait for seven days!" the hissed words escaped from between clenched teeth. "It takes less time to tear down a world than it does to build it up." A hand reached for the Tarot cards that remained where there had been the last time they had been touched. "Death," the person whispered as eyes scanned the card the hand held. The person rose to their feet, a hand reaching out to wipe the grime from a basement window.

"Time for a change," the person whispered as they looked out over the valley, snow taking on the violet hues of twilight. "Long past time for a change."


	75. Chapter 75

**Chapter Summary:** It has been nearly six months since Raoul and Philippe shared tea and a heartfelt conversation on the back portico at Chagny. Once again the two brothers find themselves alone, sharing a different kind of conversation. And Tallis and Serge arrive at Antoinette's home.

_**Author's Notes:** Okay folks, this chapter contains some icky bits as Raoul finally begins to open up about what has happened to him. I am also going to say that this chapter can be emotionally draining – it took the stuffing right out of me. Finally – still, yet and forevermore – I am giving the old _**Tissue Issue**_ warning. Weepy, this chapter is also rather weepy. So now you cannot say I did not warn you!_

CHAPTER SEVENTY FIVE

"Thank you," Raoul said as he took the glass Philippe handed him, sipping at the water. "I did not think the stairs would be quite so large a challenge," he sighed and placed the glass on the table beside the chair in which he sat. Raoul leaned his head back against the baby-soft leather and closed his eyes. "I am shaking like a tree in a storm and it makes me feel like a child."

Philippe sat down in the chair opposite his brother, a look of compassionate concern on his face. "You have been back barely six weeks. You spent the first two weeks flat on your back in bed. And while you have been growing stronger, gaining back the weight you have lost, this is the first truly huge physical task you have faced." He smiled as Raoul opened his eyes. "I am very proud of you."

"Are you?" Raoul asked softly, trying to straighten his posture and giving up, allowing his tired muscles to lounge in the chair. "Are you really?"

"Lift," Philippe told him as he slid a matching hassock beneath his brother's legs.

"Thank you," Raoul replied and raised an eyebrow. "That still does not preclude you from giving me an answer – are you really proud of me?"

Philippe was taken aback. "How could you even doubt such a thing?" He wondered and looked over his shoulder to assure himself that the door to the small parlor was closed. Philippe turned back to look at his brother. "I am going to say something to you I should have said a very long time ago. It was something I said to Monique one day while we sat outside your … what I thought was your tomb." Philippe shook his head, his brow furrowing in pain and regret. "When I thought you were dead I had a million and one thoughts cross my mind. I thought of so many things that were left unsaid between us. There were so many happy memories but for each of them there was a regret from which I thought I should never be free."

"Philippe," Raoul's chin trembled. "Please, do not. I am sorry. I did not mean …"

"Raoul, you need to listen to me," Philippe's voice took on the slightly authoritative tone that he had used when correcting a much younger brother. "I do not wish to carry these regrets on my heart and soul any longer. Not now. Not when I have a chance to rid myself of them, to make things right between us."

Chagny was an ancient chateau and no matter the improvements made by each succeeding generation, there were still small cracks in the walls. It was through these oft-times nearly invisible cracks that the cold of a late November morning crept in. Raoul could feel the slight chill in the air and he turned his gaze toward the hearth, glad to see the fire that snapped and crackled behind the screen. He had never thought the sight of a something so normal as a fire in a hearth would ever bring such warmth to a heart and mind still chilled by the icy fingers of memories Raoul longed to forget. "Things were never wrong between us," he said softly.

"No, perhaps they were not," Philippe agreed. "But we did have our moments – and before you say anything – such things are perfectly normal in families."

Raoul could only nod as he turned back to his brother. He watched as Philippe rose to his feet, moving forward slightly so that he could perch on the edge of the hassock.

"What I want to say to you, what I never had the strength to say to you, what I need you to know is this – that you are the man I wished…" Philippe paused to correct himself, "wanted to be. You have strength of character from our father that is tempered by our mother's compassion." Philippe smiled, his eyes softening as he thought of the woman that Raoul had never known. "You would have loved her, Raoul; she was sweet and gentle and so very beautiful. And she would have loved you right back and I know that she – and our father – are as proud of you as I am."

Raoul shrugged his shoulders. "But I have done nothing."

"Nothing? Nothing?" Philippe was incredulous. "Do you not remember how you always stood up to me? How you always insisted on having your own way and would only back down when I could prove that you were wrong?" Philippe waited as Raoul reluctantly nodded his head. "Do you not remember how you were ready to turn your back on everything to marry Christine? Such a thing was not even done on principle; it was done because you knew you were correct. And now you have survived something that would have destroyed most men. It would have destroyed me." Philippe paused to let out a sigh. "Your death did destroy me."

"I would not know that, would I?" Raoul wondered rather bitterly and pushed himself up so that he was sitting straighter, able to look his older brother in the eye. "Why did it take a trusted family friend to let me know what happened when everyone thought I was dead? Why did it take Christine's companion to tell me she has been ill? Everyone says how happy they are that I am still alive but none of you treat me in such a manner! Everyone walks on egg shells around me and I am sick of it! I just want to be treated like I have always been! I want to be Raoul and not some damn Lazarus miraculously risen from the dead!" He slammed his hands into the padded arms of his chair. "Dammit!" he moaned in pain, forgetting still healing nail beds. Raoul glared at Philippe as he flexed aching fingers. "I suppose I should be glad you did not just jump up and immediately run around like some damn fish wife screaming at the top of her lungs for a doctor."

Philippe refused to respond to his brother's anger. "Yes, you are correct, your family has been exceedingly careful about what we say and do around you. I will not deny it nor shall I apologize for it. But for one moment, Raoul – just one single moment – have you ever wondered why that is?" There was utter silence from Raoul. "I know you were in a horrible place and had to endure things that none of us cannot even imagine in our most fevered dreams. Yet you were not the only one suffering." Philippe shook his head and rested a hand on his brother's leg as Raoul opened his mouth. "I am not saying that what we suffered was in any means or manner comparable to anything you endured but we did suffer. Do you have any idea of how many lives you have touched? I think Christine put it best – she said that she needed to get out of Chagny because she heard your voice in every whisper, would look for you at the sound of every opening door, could smell your cologne on the sheets in which she slept. All of us, Raoul – every last one of us – felt the same. Your ghost haunted every single inch of this place. Everywhere any of us would turn, there would be a memory of you and to know that there would only be those memories nearly tore this family apart."

"Philippe …" Raoul pleaded in shaky voice.

"Xavier went to Paris to search for Christine when my own men could find no trace of her. It was the worst feeling in the world to know that your wife was somewhere far away from the family who loved her. What was left of my heart broke when I got the letter saying she was with child. I did not know how to face the rest of my life with the knowledge that a part of you still existed and that I would never know that child. I felt so empty when I would think that I would never know if the child had your smile or your eyes or your laugh. Henri became so tormented by the thought that he would be asked to live up to the standards that you set, that he began to have visions and hear voices; he thought he was losing mind."

Raoul was silent for a moment as he studied his brother's face, as yet uncertain of what he saw written upon Philippe's countenance. "What about you, Philippe? What about you?"

"I … um …" Philippe shook his head. "This is going to sound very selfish on my part but you deserve my honesty." He sighed. "I felt like I was being punished." He winced at the look that crossed Raoul's face. "I finally felt secure. I finally felt our family's future was secure. You were happy with your Christine. Our sisters were happy with their husbands and families. I was happy here in the country surrounded by my friends and Henri could provide the amusement for us all. Everything was so perfect and then – suddenly and without warning – it all fell apart. It felt like God was punishing me for enjoying the happiness in the world around me and I was ready to do whatever penance He wanted. Or the Devil demanded. I had thought of selling Chagny at one point because I could not stand it here without you." Philippe shook his head. "Luckily, I am not that far into my dotage that such an idea would be anything more than a passing thought. But I was ready to leave here; I ordered the rooms that you and Christine occupied to be locked forever. I sent telegrams to Paris asking that everything you and Christine left behind be packed into trunks and conveyed to the attic."

"Why?" Raoul asked. "Dear God, Philippe, why?"

"Because I finally had to accept that Christine and your child were gone from my life. I finally had to accept that you were gone from my life. I finally had to grow up." Philippe reluctantly admitted. "I was finally going to live the life I had watched – and envied - you enjoying. I was going to go back to Paris and find a wife. I was going to resume a life I had placed into your capable hands, a life I no longer wanted." Now it was Philippe's turn to cast down his eyes. "I was going to do my damned best to live up to the standards you set. I was going to be everything you ever were so that when you would watch from Heaven, you would be proud of your big brother."

"I. Do. Not. Want. To. Be. On. A. Pedestal!" Raoul hissed from between clenched teeth, still throbbing hands reaching up to wipe at angry, frustrated tears. "You want to hear the truth? You want to know what kind of man it is that rests upon that damned pedestal? I will tell you, shall I? I fell from that pedestal the moment I gave in to those bastards. The moment I stopped believing I would come home, the moment I stopped believing that my wife loved me," Raoul turned his head away, "that any of you loved me was the moment I lost any and all self-respect." His voice lowered. "You do not know what it is like, Philippe; and I pray to God you never do. You do not know what it is like to have every second of your life controlled by a madman. You do not know what it is like to be afraid to move or talk or to even breathe without permission." Raoul closed his eyes, drifting away into the memories he fought against, unable to control his words, unable to see the shocked horror upon his brother's face. "You do not know what it is like to be cut just for the simple pleasure of seeing the pain such an action invokes. I would go days without food or water and I learned to stop asking for them, to stop calling out for help. You learn to do such things to avoid the beatings that come upon the heels of such actions. There are only so many ribs that can be cracked or toes that can be broken or bruises that can be re-injured before each old pain fades into a new pain that becomes eternal pain. The human body is not an infinite punching bag."

Raoul did not notice that Philippe had turned on the hassock, his skin taking on a sallow color as Raoul finally began to speak of what he had endured.

"You have no idea how much you begin to long for the drugged water you know they will bring because the drugs allow you to escape from Hell – if only for a little while. Then the drugs were off and you are right back in the thick of it again and you have new cuts and bruises and burns and you are not even sure how you got them." Raoul inhaled deeply and let it out slowly, steadying his nerves. "And the smell of burning flesh is something that you will never forget – especially if it is your own. I cannot rid myself of that damn smell! Even when I hold Christine, smelling the scent of lilies on her skin and in her hair, I can still hear my flesh sizzle from the burning wicks. I can still smell that sickly sweet odor."

Now it was Philippe's turn. "Raoul, you do not …"

But Raoul did not hear him. "They kept me manacled in a stable. I was chained to the wall like some rabid dog." Raoul's voice took on a slightly angry tone. "At least they have the decency to kill a rabid animal and not toy with it for sport." And then his voice grew distant again. "I do not even remember what it was I did but he beat my head against the stone wall of the barn until I blacked out. Do you know where I awoke?" He turned back to Philippe and grabbed his brother's arm so that Philippe would look at him. "Do you?"

"No," Philippe replied softly.

"I was in an iron box." Raoul shook Philippe's arm. "I was locked in a damn iron box and left in the sun for God knows how long." Raoul's tone grew softer. "That was when I started to see her, to see my angel."

Philippe was confused. "Your what?"

"I was losing my mind, Philippe! Can you not understand that? I was seeing and talking to an angel that looked just like Christine! She tried to protect me from them. She was the one who urged me to hold on, to keep faith, to believe that someday I would be coming home. She took me away from there to the beach where Christine and I first met." Raoul shook his head. "But I did not listen to her warnings about the water and I woke up bound and motionless in a coffin."

Philippe closed his eyes in pain as he remembered entering the crypt that glowed an eerie red from the candle in the Presence lamp. He remembered hearing a voice calling out from the dead. Philippe remembered falling to his knees as he realized he was not losing his own mind.

"And I wanted to die," Raoul said softly, his voice even and unemotional. "I finally wanted to die. I could not take any more and I just wanted it to stop. I no longer wished to scream in pain for their amusement. I no longer wished to have thoughts of home, of you, of Christine. I no longer wanted to have something that was beyond my reach. I just wanted it all to end. I even begged him to kill me. I became the one thing I feared most in this world."

Now Philippe was confused. "Pardon me?"

"I am a coward. I gave up. I let them do what they wanted to me and I stop fighting back. I stopped trying. I begged him to kill me." Raoul struggled with his emotions, fighting back the urge to break into tears. "I have become the one thing I feared the most. I have become the one thing I have struggled not to be all my life. I have become the one thing our father said I would become. I have become a coward and I am terrified to let any of you close enough to see such a thing." Once again hands reached up to brush away the tears that Raoul could no longer stop. "And if you dare to say a word of this to Christine…"

"What is said in this room, between brothers, stays in this room – between brothers," Philippe assured Raoul before blurting out, "But how can you possibly think of yourself as a coward?"

Raoul leaned forward to grab his brother by the arms, shaking Philippe slightly. "I gave up! Do you not understand? I gave up! I stopped believing in everything that I hold dear! They even took away my ability to kill myself so I had to beg him to do it for me! I begged him to kill me because I could no longer face the world in which I found myself!" He let go of Philippe and sagged back into the chair, placing his hands over his face. "I gave up. I let everyone down. I am the failure and the coward that Father always knew I would become."

"Dear God, Raoul," Philippe breathed. "This family fell apart without you! We were blown and scattered about like autumn leaves! You were – and are – loved more than you will ever know." There was no answer. "Please take down your hands," Philippe asked. "I have spent too many months without seeing your face and I find I quite like looking upon it."

Raoul lowered his hands, allowing Philippe to take one in his own.

"And you are nothing like what our father declared you to be! He was a bitter, angry man after Mother died."

"And he blamed me for that! I was responsible for taking her from him – from all of you!"

"Is that what you think?" Philippe asked, Raoul nodding in response. "Then – please! – allow me to dispel you of such a foolish notion! I remember when our mother said she was expecting another child – you. She was glowing, Raoul! She was absolutely glowing! She was always an incredibly beautiful woman but you seemed to bring out the best of her beauty. She made so many plans for you. She said you were the blessing she was receiving for having put up with father and having raised three children who had given her nothing but headaches. And then she would laugh and continue to make plans for you. She also knew it was a risk to have a child so late in life but she was so certain you were God's angel sent to her that she would hear no words spoken against you." Philippe lightly squeezed the hand he held. "I can hear her now – in Heaven – lecturing Father on his stubborn, foolish pride and angry bitterness. I know she cried joyful tears when you came back to us. And I know she is laughing in delight that you are soon to be a father and that you will be here to raise your child with all the love with which she wanted to raise you."

"They took her cross, Philippe," Raoul said sorrowfully. "All those years of being so careful with it and now it is gone."

"I know," Philippe nodded back. "I think there may be other pieces of jewelry locked away, other crosses. Mother had a deep faith and I think we can find another cross for you to wear. Perhaps even one to give to Christine and one to your child."

Raoul turned white as a ghost. "What if something happens to Christine?" He gave voice to the thought that he had not dared speak before. "She has had so many difficulties, Philippe! What if … what if she dies? What if the baby dies? I would not be able to go on without them! It would kill me! I know it would!" Raoul shook his head. "I do not want to become our father!"

"You cannot and must not think like that!" Philippe told him. "Christine has fought so hard for this child. You have fought so hard to survive. That you are both here – now – waiting for the birth of your child is surely a blessing and a sign from God." He smiled slightly. "And I know that Mother is watching over all of you, guiding your destinies, protecting your pathways. There is nothing but happiness awaiting all three of you." Philippe nodded. "Of that I am certain!"

A sheepish look passed over Raoul's face. "Promise me you shall remind me of such a thing at every possible moment."

"At every possible second," Philippe replied with a smile, reaching out a hand to rest against Raoul's cheek. "My dear Vicomte," his voice lowered slightly, "my beloved brother." Philippe drew Raoul into a warm embrace. "My best friend," he whispered as he felt Raoul's arms go about him, their touch a combination of desperation, longing and love.

Other friends were also reuniting in the north of France as Antoinette Giry placed her needlework on the settee and rose to her feet, arms reaching out to the young woman who stood in the doorway of her parlor. "Tallis," she breathed, meeting the young woman halfway across the room.

Tallis could find no words and silently clung to Antoinette for a long moment, finally allowing the other woman to draw back slightly.

"Herr Count," Antoinette said as she turned to smile at Serge, inclining her head slightly.

"Madame," Serge replied with a click of his heels. A smile crossed his boyish features. "And it is just Serge, I must insist."

Antoinette smiled her thanks to him and took Tallis by the hand, leading her back to the settee; Serge waited until they were seated before settling into a nearby wing chair. Antoinette could not take her eyes from Tallis' face. "Oh, my poor child," she said. "You do not look happy."

Tallis could not stand the inspection and lowered her eyes. "I am not very happy," she replied. "I am not very happy at all."

"I would like to believe that this unhappiness is caused by your new living situation in England and the fact that you miss me." Antoinette nodded slightly at Serge and knew he understood the meaning of her words and was not offended. She also recognized the twinkle in his eyes and knew she had a partner in her silent prayers. "Yet I do believe that it is so." She placed a finger beneath Tallis chin and raised the other woman's head. "I would like to think that it is because – just perhaps – you are missing a certain gentleman."

"I was missing him," Tallis began. "I was thinking that I had made the biggest mistake of my life by letting him go." Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. "He sent me the music he had promised to write for me. It was the most beautiful thing anyone has ever done for me! It was sweet and sad and angry and … and … so painfully beautiful! It was … it was … it was everything he was! It was everything we were together." Tallis took back one of her hands brush away the tears. "He knew what it would do to me! He knew! He played me like I was one of his musical instruments! He knew the moment I heard what he had created, I would come running back to him. He knew it and counted on it!" Tallis was growing angry. "And where is he? Gone! He is gone!" Tallis rose to her feet and began to pace about the room, her skirts flouncing about her ankles. "That … that … that Phantom! He sent me that music to bring me back here because he knew he would not be here! He wanted me to make a fool of myself!" She stopped her pacing long enough to glare at Antoinette. "Well, he succeeded! I am the fool he wanted me to be." Tallis' shoulders drooped slightly. "And I am a miserable fool at that."

"You went to the garret first?" Antoinette wondered.

It was Serge who replied. "Yes," he said with a nod of his head. "Tallis insisted." He heaved a great sigh. "It was quite sad, actually. It appeared to me as if no one had ever lived there; as if nothing had been there but the ghosts of the past."

Tallis stopped her pacing for a moment. "How appropriate," she muttered and resumed pacing.

Serge studied her irritation and shook his head sadly before turning back to Antoinette. "Once I realized that Monsieur Herrin was no longer in the garret, I immediately instructed the coach driver to come here. I was hoping that you would know what happened to him. That you might even know where he can be found."

"I do," Antoinette acknowledged, waiting and watching as Serge nodded slightly and Tallis paused in her pacing, turning huge eyes upon her.

"You know," Tallis breathed, her eyes beginning to sparkle with anticipation. "You know where he is? Where? Where is he?"

Antoinette knew her next words would break Tallis' heart. "My dear…" She did not have a chance to finish her sentence for Tallis returned to the settee, staring down into Antoinette's upturned face.

"He did not," Tallis whispered, the sparkle in her eyes turning into a desperate fear. "Please tell me he did not return to that place!"

"He did," Antoinette said simply. She reached for Tallis' hands and pulled the young woman back to the settee. "What did you think would happen?" Antoinette asked. "Did you truly think there would be no consequences from your actions?" Her brow furrowed as she shook her head. "How many times do you think a man like Erik can be denied his dreams or desires before he retreats to the comfort of the familiar? How many times and in how many ways must he be told that he is not like other men before he believes such things? How long before the humanity surrenders to the darkness and the man returns to the Phantom?"

"Why did you not stop him!" Tallis nearly screamed.

"Listen to me," Antoinette commanded, using the stern voice hundreds of ballet rats had cringed from over the years. "I have spent a lifetime saving Erik from himself and I find I no longer have the strength – or desire – to continue to do so."

"But …" Tallis interrupted.

"Fraulein," Serge in turn interrupted Tallis with a voice nearly as stern as that of Antoinette.

Tallis seemed to shrink into herself at the stern rebukes from the two people in the room with her.

"Erik is my friend," Antoinette said a bit more softly. "He will always be my friend but there comes a point when even the best of friends can no longer help each other. There comes a time in every relationship when the end of the road is reached and all that is left to be done is to say goodbye. I knew that. Erik knew that." Antoinette watched as the tears began to flow down Tallis' cheeks. "He and I had come to a parting of the ways and we both knew it. I need peace and quiet and happiness from my life. Erik needed dark and the shadows and the solitude from his. I wanted to live and he wanted to hide. We said our goodbyes and I let him go." Antoinette sighed and pushed down her own emotions as she had done nearly all her life. "It was the most painful thing I have ever done but there was simply nothing else I could do. I am no longer the one who is able to save Erik from himself. That job now belongs to someone else." She smiled slightly at Tallis. "It belongs to you." Antoinette grew serious. "I just pray that you are in time."

Tallis turned to look at Serge. "We must go and we must go now!"

"No," Antoinette said, drawing the attention of the Serge and Tallis back to her. "It is broad daylight and should you be seen entering the opera house, there will be questions asked that cannot safely be answered." She shook her head. "And neither of you know the traps that Erik has set in those dark corridors; I do. I know each of them and I know how to get past them."

"Then you must tell us," Serge interjected, "for I shall not permit Tallis to venture into this rabbit warren of Hell by herself."

"I will tell you," Antoinette said. "I will tell you how to get into the opera house. I will draw you a map of how to reach Erik's lair all the while avoiding his traps. We shall do that today so that by tomorrow at twilight each of you will know the way and you can safely reach Erik." She turned her attention back to Tallis who sat still and silent beside her. "It has been over two weeks, my dear." Antoinette placed a gentle hand on Tallis' arm. "I cannot guarantee what you will find should you reach the lair safely."

Tallis sniffled and wiped at her tears. "Do you not think I know that? I know what I have done. I know that I may all ready be too late but I have to try." She closed her eyes and could hear her music playing through her thoughts, weaving its spell, drawing her into a world from which there could never be an escape. "I have to try."


	76. Chapter 76

**Chapter Summary:** Chief Inspector Robert Pichette receives orders regarding his prisoners. Nico makes one last threat. Henri and Didier make plans that will allow Inspector Rousseau access to the rooms at Cote de Vallee. Antoinette draws out a detailed map for Tallis and Serge. And somewhere in France someone is very pleased at the change in weather.

CHAPTER SEVENTY SIX

Chief Inspector Robert Pichette looked at the sheet of orders that had arrived by courier. He read and re-read them, memorizing details both great and small, his face frowning in concentration. He finally placed the papers down on the desk behind which he sat, reaching for his pen, signing the final sheet that he had set aside. He dusted the still wet ink and blew lightly upon it, assuring himself that it was dry. Then Pichette carefully folded the sheet before slipping it into the leather mail pouch, replacing the lock and snapping it shut. He raised eyes to the man who stood silently at attention on the other side of the desk.

"I understand and accept responsibility," he said simply, handing the locked pouch to the man. "I shall await the men from Paris and expect them here in four days time." He nodded his head. "No more and no less. The prisoners shall be ready for transport at that time."

"Thank you, sir," the courier replied. "I shall go and telegraph Paris and be on my way." He waited until Pichette had risen to his feet before turning smartly on his heel and walking out of the door that Pichette had opened for him.

Chief Inspector Pichette watched as the man exited from the small police station in Chagny before turning his attention to Inspector Rousseau who waited behind a desk, seemingly paying little attention to what had happened behind the closed door of the borrowed office. Yet the moment a barely perceptible nod came from Pichette, Rousseau was on his feet, crossing to the other side of the station and taking a seat at the desk while Pichette closed the door behind them before resuming his own seat. He handed the papers he had been reading to Rousseau. "Read them carefully," he said quietly and watched as Rousseau slowly read each of the sheets handed to him.

"We know for certain that the men from Paris will be here in four days?" Rousseau wondered as he placed the sheets back on the desk.

"It matters little if they are not," Pichette replied as he folded his hands atop the desk. "We cannot move without them; there are just not enough gendarmes here to accomplish what must be done." He gave a slight wry smile. "Even should the prisoners be bound, gagged and completely harmless." The smile disappeared. "Which we are all too aware they are not."

"I do not envy them," Rousseau said. "What awaits them is …"

"Everything they deserve," Pichette finished. "Yet it is less than they deserve for all that they have done." He shook his head. "Listening to Vicomte relay what was done to him, seeing the effects of those actions and knowing he will have to testify to such things in court makes what awaits these men seem mild in comparison."

Rousseau looked puzzled. "Considering the state of the Vicomte's health and the fact that his wife is soon to deliver their child, can the Ministry not make considerations to prevent him from having to travel back to Paris? You would think – considering the family name and connections – that he would not be required to appear in court."

"I am sure that the Ministry will find some way to take his testimony without having the Vicomte travel to Paris," Pichette acknowledged. "Perhaps, they will send a presiding judge to record his testimony to be read in open court. I do not know but I do know that no matter what is done, the outcome of this has been decided. There is no question of guilt and no question of punishment."

"What of Inspector Menard and the prisoner that he holds?" Rousseau wondered.

"Francois Amerlaine has already been transported back to Paris and awaits his fate from a cell in the Bastille," Pichette told him. "It was not thought wise – or safe – to transport all three of these men at one time." He sighed and settled back into his chair. "Now, what of you and your meetings with our two young men? Has anything new come to light? There is but a few days left before I must tell the Ministry something. They will not allow any more time to pass without an answer."

"I am to meet with them at the inn," Rousseau looked at this watch. "Shortly, as a matter of fact." He raised his head, a grim look on his young face. "I am not comfortable with involving civilians in such a matter; especially, considering how close each of them are to the situation. I do not believe they fully appreciate just how much danger to which they may be exposing themselves. The person who devised this scheme, who laid out these elaborate plans, will not wish to be discovered." He nodded toward the papers on the desk. "Should they get caught in their efforts to find what they seek, we may find ourselves with real dead bodies on our hands. How shall we explain that to the Ministry?"

Pichette let out a long sigh. "Perhaps it is time to thank these young men for their efforts and tell them to cease and desist; I do not wish to see any other innocents hurt. We shall tell Paris what we believe and let them handle the issue in their own way. This has gone on too long and – I think – has gone far beyond our reach. There are ways of dealing with people from a certain class that those in the Ministry understand far better than either you or I." His gaze strayed beyond the closed office to the world beyond. "And, rather selfishly, I wish to return to Lyon to my wife and children and my familiar office and duties." He returned his gaze to Rousseau. "I think there are a great many people involved in this who wish to return to their normal lives." He rose to his feet. "Go to your meeting with the young men," Pichette said as Rousseau rose to his feet, "but be careful," he warned. "Do not let yourself be recognized for we do not wish to put them in danger. And I shall go and inform our prisoners of their impending change of location."

The two men left the office together, pausing as Rousseau slipped into a long leather coat, wrapping a scarf about his lower face, placing a fedora on his head, pulling the brim down low. Pichette nodded his approval and waited until the young man had walked into the November afternoon before turning toward the cells where his two prisoners were held. He waited as the guard unlocked the outer door before stepping into the stone room that held four cells. Pichette nodded at the two armed guards at either end of the cell block.

"Was that a door?" Pichette heard Louis call out. "We have a visitor," he chuckled.

Pichette turned his head slightly as Nico moved toward the bars of his cell. "Have you talked to my toys?" he wondered. "Do they miss me? Did the pretty lady bring me her new toy yet?" He sighed and smiled. It was a smile that did not reflect in the deadness of his eyes. "I have so many games for my toys," Nico said. "Old games for my old toy and new games for my new toys." He bit the end of a fingertip. "Do you wonder how long it will take for the pretty lady listening to the little toy scream before she lets me do what I want? Do you wonder if my old toy will let me do what I want to him if I promise to leave the pretty lady and the little toy alone?"

Pichette fought down the nausea he felt at the calmness of Nico's words. "I think it does not matter," he began.

"It does matter," Nico hissed as he grabbed the bars of his cell and began to shake them back and forth. "I am not finished yet! I am not finished yet!" He screamed, the spittle flying everywhere. "I am not finished yet! They are mine! They belong to me!"

It took the barest of nods from Pichette before the armed guard behind him was before Nico, his rifle pointed at Nico and just beyond his reach. Nico backed down but there was still an unsettling sense of madness swirling about him.

"They are still mine," he said softly as he backed away from the bars, sitting on the hard wooden plank that passed for a bed.

"But far beyond your reach," Pichette said softly and took note of the hands that appeared upon the bars of Louis' cell. "I have come to inform you both that in four days time both of you shall be transported to Paris, there to wait in the Bastille for your trials. I am certain that you both know the outcome of the trials for there is no doubt of your guilt. I have heard that hanging is most unpleasant should the executioner fail to judge the proper length of the rope." Pichette was silent as he allowed the meaning of his words to sink into the minds of the two men. "I am sure that such a thing could be averted should either one of you be willing to come forth and name the person behind the abduction and torture of the Vicomte."

"What of Francois?" Louis wondered.

"Already awaiting his trial in Paris," Pichette said. "He has told us all that he knows and received due consideration for such cooperation as he was able to offer." Pichette heard Louis snort and the hands that clasped to the bars of the cell disappeared.

"I know less than him," Louis replied. "I would rather take my chances with a failed noose than whatever any mystery person could do to me." He chuckled. "And do not even ask my friend over there, he is too far gone to know anything."

"I know I shall find my toys again," Nico said loudly and grew quiet. "That is a promise," he said softly.

"As you will, then," Pichette told them and turned, leaving the cell block, hearing the door lock behind him, Nico's final promise echoing in his head and sending a chill up his spine.

A chill also crept up the spines of those seated in the warmth of an inn as the front door opened, a November breeze admitting a man into the shelter and camaraderie of the roadside establishment. Heads turned, eyes wide, looks demanding until the man shut the door. Heads then turned and conversations resumed, no one particularly caring who it was behind the scarf, beneath the hat for they had all come into the inn bundled in much the same way against the sudden chill that had descended upon the surrounding valley. The man shook off the snowflakes that had not yet melted from the heat of the inn and loosened his scarf careful to keep the bottom of his face covered. He looked about him, seeking and finding that which he sought. He turned to the barmaid, nodding at her and nodding at a table in a dark corner of the inn, trusting that she would know what it was he wanted. He moved easily across the crowded, noisy inn, an air of indifference following his wake. He stopped by the table in the corner, looking down at the two faces that looked up at him. "Do you have room for a stranger?"

Henri and Didier lowered their heads, looking at each other, before Henri turned back to the man standing beside their table. "If you can find no other to welcome you," Henri said in an exceedingly loud voice meant to carry across the two rooms that encompassed the public area of the inn as he motioned toward the lone empty chair at the table, "then, please, feel free to join us." He waited until the man had sat down, his face covered by the shadows in the corner. Henri waved at Arlette who was walking toward them. "A drink for my friend!" he called out merrily.

Arlette had a large smile on her face as she stopped by their table, placing a steaming tankard smelling of apples and spice down. She laughed as Henri wrapped an arm about her, pulling her close. "You are always three steps ahead of me," he chortled.

"I need to be with you, sir," Arlette said as she squirmed out of Henri's grasp, leaning over to peck him lightly on the cheek. "I shall do what I can to see that you have as much privacy as possible," she whispered into his ear before straightening. "And do not think you can monopolize my attention!" she grinned and turned, laughing at the light tap Henri gave to her bottom.

Henri and Didier watched as the man lowered his scarf and took a sip from the steaming tankard. "Nothing like mulled cider to chase away the chill of encroaching winter," Inspector Rousseau said as he arranged his scarf so that he could speak but still keep his face hidden.

"You would not believe the chill that has descended," Didier said with a smile that was anything but warm.

"Ah, then," Rousseau replied, "allow me to share some news I picked up along my travels that may brighten your heart." He lowered his voice. "Foucault and Mircea are to be transported to Paris in four days time to await trial. It is to be done at night so as to raise as little commotion as possible. The best gendarmes are on their way here even as we speak to accomplish this task. And Amerlaine is already waiting in the Bastille."

Both Henri and Didier managed genuine smiles, Didier raising his own tankard to his lips and sipping at the foamy ale within. "That is good news, indeed," he said softly. "One more step to regaining the peace and tranquility of our little town."

"To peace and tranquility," Rousseau said as he raised his tankard. "Wherever it may be found – home and hearth or the open road." His meaning was not lost on the two men with whom he sat.

"True peace and tranquility can be very elusive commodities," Didier said, a slight smile on his face. "They can be very difficult to find."

Rousseau was silent for a moment. "I was afraid of that," he finally said. "I believe I shall find my chances on the road to Paris far better – though a bit more perilous – than I do this charming village."

"Oh God," Henri breathed.

"You cannot!" Didier echoed Henri's sentiment and tone. "You do not know what you are doing!"

Rousseau leaned across the table. "Gentlemen," he whispered. "We are running out of time. Once the prisoners are under guard and on a train for Paris, my inspector and I have been ordered to return to Lyon. The Ministry will be sending their own inspectors down here to settle this matter and all consequences be damned."

"No matter what my cousins may wish?" Henri asked. "Raoul is just settling back to something of a normal life. They cannot come down here and tear it all asunder again!"

Didier laid a hand on Henri's arm. "Remember what is at stake!" came the urgently whispered words and he turned his attention back to Inspector Rousseau. "I have not found the one thing for which we have been searching. I have scoured rooms where I thought it might be found." Didier paled a bit. "I was even found looking in places I should not have been."

Rousseau grew grim. "We were afraid of that," he said and shook his head. "You have both done far more than either of you should have done. You have gone above and beyond where a civilian should go. You have placed yourselves in a danger I do not think either of you even realize and I am afraid it must stop here and it must stop now."

Didier's firm, emphatic, "No!" broke the stunned silence at the table. He shook his head. "No," Didier repeated. "We cannot stop now."

"You must," Rousseau told the two young men who were staring at him in a mixture of shock and disbelief. "You both came to us with an offer to help and – while noble – that offer has not lead to anything. Now, with what you have said regarding being seen looking in places where you should not have been, that volunteerism must end. We cannot guarantee your safety …"

"No one can guarantee my safety," Didier said bitterly. "If I do not find what it is everyone seeks, if I cannot bring a long hidden truth to the light of day, then I am doomed. I will be caught up in the lies of my family and my future – any future – for which I may have dreamt, will be for naught. Every child wish will be but the foolish hopes of someone far better suited to babbling on a street corner then running what remains of a noble heritage."

Henri felt a sharp pain stab through his heart at his friend's words. "I will not allow that to happen." He turned to look at Rousseau. "My family already half-despairs of me anyway and would barely give a second thought were something to befall my person. I need not remind you that there is still an unborn child who may very well be in danger. I cannot and I will not allow anything else to destroy the lives that my cousin and his wife are slowly rebuilding." Henri frowned, angry determination crossing his face. "And I will permit anything to happen to that child – not while I still draw breath."

"Gentlemen…" Rousseau tried.

"No!" Didier and Henri interrupted him in chorus. Didier nodded at Henri.

"There is to be a celebratory dinner at Chagny tomorrow." Henri shook his head and corrected himself. "It is actually to be a formal tea since my cousin still tires easily and has asked for an early meal. Everyone is to be there."

"It would be a good time for a rather quiet search," Didier finished.

Rousseau leaned back in his chair, taking a sip from his tankard. "And how am I to accomplish that?"

Didier grimaced. "I can play games as well as the next person. I can feign illness and beg off."

"No, no, no," Henri said as he shook his head, knowing what his friend meant. "You cannot take that stuff again."

"What choice do I have? What choice – what chance – do any of us have?" Didier asked him. "I shall only take a small pinch, barely enough to make me ill."

"What stuff are you speaking about taking?" Rousseau wondered, slightly confused before it began to dawn on him what the two young men were talking about. "If you are speaking of the drug that was given to the Vicomte, then I must heartily agree with your friend – it is not safe and it is most certainly not wise."

Didier could not be swayed. "You cannot change my mind," he said softly. "I know that my cousins are due to leave for Chagny at three in the afternoon and are not expected back till well after eight in the evening. That should give us enough time to find something – anything! – that will either prove or disprove what we know."

"It is too risky," Rousseau said.

"I agree," Henri chimed in, biting his bottom lip. "This is far too dangerous for you to face alone." He brightened, a large smile turning up the corners of his lips. "Therefore, I shall make some poor, pathetic excuse to get me away from this damn tea and join you. Philippe will probably be expecting me to find a way out of this; it shall not be a surprising thing on my part."

"You would do that for me?" Didier asked, a light of wonderment in his eyes.

Henri could only nod.

Rousseau looked back and forth between the two young men, his heart sinking as he realized he would not be able to deter them from their plans; there was only one thing he could do. "Very well then, gentlemen," he said as he once again leaned forward. "I will meet you both at five p.m. and we shall see what we can find." Carefully he slipped a piece of paper from a pocket in his jacket, placing a charcoal pencil beside it. "Draw me the safest way to approach so that I might not be seen."

Cautious approaches were also being mapped out on a sheet of paper that rested upon a dining table in the north of France. The pencil markings upon the paper traced out a rabbit's warren of twists and turns, lines that doubled back on each other, lines that curved in spirals only to end abruptly. There were little circled x's that dotted the lines at varying intervals. Finally tissue paper was laid over the whole, the map and markings beneath visible through the thin sheet. Four hands – one set belonging to a man, one to a woman – held the two sheets in place as the hands of another woman attached the sheets together using sewing pins. Once the sheets were attached, hands holding the sheets steady were withdrawn and a red sewing marker appeared. One hand traced a well-remembered path over the seemingly random and aimless map. Slowly and carefully, a straight path began to appear over the haphazard lines. The path avoided all the circled x's and the lines that ended in nothing. It seemed to those who watched the pathway being created that it resembled nothing more than a child's game tracing their way through a maze. Yet everyone about the table knew that the maze was deadly and it was not a child's game they played.

"I believe that is it," Antoinette Giry said as she stood, stretching her back and gazing at the map resting upon her dining table.

"You believe?" Serge asked. "We are risking our lives for a man who might not even be in this maze and you believe this is correct?"

"He is there," Tallis said softly as a finger traced the red line, burning it into memory.

"Understand, Herr Count, that I have not been to the opera house in almost two years," Antoinette addressed the younger man. "Seasons have passed since that time and I am sure that vandals have come and gone." She tapped a finger against the map. "This is how I remember it. This is the route that I used whenever I would come and go from Erik's lair. If the elements or mankind have changed things than that is something completely beyond my control."

"Pray, accept my apologies, Madame," Serge said with a polite nod of his head.

Antoinette raised a hand to rub at her forehead. "Thank you," she replied. "I find this is very tiring." She smiled sadly at Tallis who was still studying the map, her finger tracing over and over the red line. "I have spent so many years pulling Erik from the depths of his own darkness that I find it rather hard to entrust such a thing to another." She smiled as Tallis raised her head, a look of hurt bewilderment upon her face. "Yet I know that I am no longer the one who can do such a thing. I do not have the strength and I know he will no longer listen to anything I might have to say to him. Now it is your turn, my dear. Now you must be the one to save Erik from himself. Are you sure you have the strength to do such a thing?"

"No," Tallis admitted reluctantly. "But I must try. If I do not try, I shall spend the rest of my life wondering what might have been, berating myself for my stupidity and foolishness and mourning my loss. I have no desire to live with such regrets. I need to know that I at least tried!"

Antoinette and Serge exchanged a meaningful look before they both turned to Tallis. "Even if you should fail?" Antoinette wondered.

"Most importantly should I fail," Tallis nodded her head. "If I fail, if I am too late, then I shall live with a broken heart for the rest of my life. I shall spend all my days and nights in prayer for Erik and in penance for myself but at least I will know that I tried." She laughed, it was a sad, hollow little sound. "That shall be – at least – some consolation."

"That is what I wished to hear," she said as she rested a hand upon the one Tallis still had on the map. "I could not trust Erik to a better soul." Antoinette took her hand back. "Now, let us go over the map one more time before we retire and then in the morning, we shall go over it again and again until you both must leave for the opera house."

Serge and Tallis returned their eyes to the map as – once again – Antoinette began tracing the safe pathway to Erik's lair. They listened intently as she described the different routes they would need to take if the safe pathway lay in ruins, paying close attention to her description of the traps and the ways to avoid them.

That night, after everyone had retired to bed, after the citizens of France snuggled beneath comforters and duvets, dreaming away the quiet, still hours, a particularly fierce storm blew in from the depths of the Russian steppes. It was a storm driven by bitter cold winds and heavy intense snow that fell for hours, blanketing all of France in a frigid white blanket. Yet even as the snow was blown away across the English Channel, the bitter cold remained and somewhere beneath a feather-filled duvet a person rolled over and looked out a window at the now white rolling hills beyond. A single hand reached out and was quickly drawn back under the duvet.

"How appropriate and what a nice change," the person muttered as sleep began to claim the mind again. "Hell has finally frozen over."


	77. Chapter 77

**Chapter Summary:** Raoul and Christine share a quiet, very normal moment. Philippe finds amusement in the very different personalities of his two sisters. Henri needs an ally and pulls Arthur into the plans he and Didier have made. Monique, Xavier and Didier finalize their own plans for the party at Chagny. Tallis receives a final bit of wisdom from Antoinette. And a frigid winter day fades into a still cold afternoon bringing shadows that hold fingers of dreaded anticipation.

CHAPTER SEVENTY SEVEN

"Oh," Raoul sighed as he drew his wife closer, feeling her head go to his shoulder, "I had forgotten how nice it is to just cuddle you beneath the blankets." His voice lowered a notch. "How soft you feel, how you smell like the sweetest thing in creation." Raoul laughed as a little hand or foot reached out, nudging him in the side. "What does that feel like?" he wondered. "Does it hurt?"

"Sometimes," Christine told him as she gently placed an arm over his chest. "There are times when I wonder why I do not have bruises from how hard your daughter kicks me." She chuckled. "Maybe it shall be a boy after all."

Raoul kissed the top of the head that rested beneath his chin. "I do not care if it is a boy or a girl as long as it is healthy." He drew a deep breath and decided to express his fears to his wife. "All I want is for you both to be healthy and survive. I would not … I could not…" Raoul turned his head away unable to finish speaking his fears.

Christine took back the arm that rested across her husband's chest, her hand reaching to his face, turning it toward her. "Open your eyes and look at me," she said softly. "Please, Raoul, just look at me. It will be all right, I promise."

The eyes that slowly opened were full of fear and longing. "I am so afraid," Raoul whispered. "I could not stand to lose you again."

"I am not going to die," Christine insisted, knowing to where her husband's thoughts drifted. She allowed her fingers to lightly massage Raoul's temple. "I am going to be right in this bed when our child is born and you are going to be right by my side." She smiled. "And when everything is finished, we are going to hold our child and quiet its tears and kiss it all over and laugh as we count tiny fingers and toes and …"

"I am sure my mother had those same dreams," Raoul replied softly.

"I am not your mother," Christine insisted. "I am young and…"

"And you have had so many problems..."

Christine suddenly burst into laughter, turning her head into Raoul's neck, her laughter reverberating in his throat. Raoul's eyes held a mixture of amusement and confusion as he looked at Christine. "What is so funny?" he wondered. "Am I that much of a fool for worrying? Am I…"

Christine lifted her head and placed a finger over Raoul's lips. "Do you have any idea what we have just done?"

"No." Raoul's amusement faded away into total confusion.

"Oh Lord, Raoul," Christine managed as she struggled to turn her laughter into giggles. She reached her free hand to support the swell of her belly as her whole body shook. "We just spent the last minutes interrupting each other, never letting the other finish a sentence." Her mirth was rapidly turning into tears. "It was like it used to be! It was like every other morning when we would stay late in bed for no reason and just talk!" Christine could not stop the tears. "It was just so … so normal!"

Raoul was silent for a moment and then tightened his hold on his wife, massaging her back, planting kisses all over her face. "I am so sorry, Christine," he whispered between kisses. "I did not know. I could not even remember…"

Christine ran a soothing hand down her husband's cheek, fingers tracing the outline of his features. "I shall always remember for both of us." She laughed slightly through her tears as the baby demanded its share of the attention. "I shall always remember for all of us," she said softly and snuggled back into her husband's embrace, allowing Raoul to draw the covers up over them as they continued to rebuild that which had been lost and neglected, finding warmth against the frigid November morning in each other's arms.

Downstairs at Chagny, around the breakfast table, things were not quite as peaceful as plans for the afternoon tea were dissected down to the minutest detail. Philippe sat at the head of the table, sipping at his tea, allowing his sisters to do as they pleased. A slight smile curled his lips for he knew that all of their planning and plotting would be in vain; he would have his way in the end. He always had his way. There were privileges, after all, to being head of the family.

"The cream linens?" Desiree was bemoaning. "That shall be so terribly mundane! The whole table set in nothing but cream." She shuddered in mock horror.

"What would you suggest?" Charlotte wondered, her voice holding a tone of bored resignation. She had given in to her older sister's whims far too often. "And please do not let it be too garish! I know your taste toward the flamboyant."

Desiree appeared shocked. "What did you think I was going to suggest? We all change into togas, place laurel wreaths on our heads and dance in the drifting snow outside." She looked down at the food on her plate. "Oh, please, Charlotte! Do use the brain I am certain God placed into your head!"

Philippe fought back the urge to chuckle out loud.

"I thought the cream linens would be dignified," Charlotte told her older sister, her tone slightly aggrieved.

"This is meant to be a celebration and not a funer…" Desiree caught herself before she finished the word.

"Pardon me?" Philippe asked rather bluntly and watched as both his sisters turned a bright red. "Consider yourself lucky that you did finish that word," he scolded Desiree. "I do not ever want to hear that word in this house again," Philippe warned and listened to the potent silence that suddenly surrounded his breakfast table. "Am I understood?"

"Yes," Charlotte replied in a meek tone.

"Yes," Desiree added.

Philippe leaned back in his chair, allowing a look of smug self-satisfaction to play across his face. It was not often these days that he found the opportunity to call his two sisters to task and Philippe found he quite liked the memories it evoked. "Now, as to this afternoon's festivities," Philippe addressed them, the smug smile on his face turning genuine. "I quite like that word 'festivities'," he said to no one in particular. "The cream linens are being ironed even as we argue over them at this table."

Charlotte flashed her sister an "I won this time!" smile.

"Yet in deference to the fact that this is a party to celebrate the return of life to our family and to the world around us," Philippe said as he turned to Desiree and smiled. "We will be using the burgundy and gold china service of which Mother was so fond." Philippe felt a tug at his heartstrings at the look that passed over his sister's face. "I thought you might approve," he said softly.

"That was always the china Mother used whenever she felt there was something to celebrate," Desiree sighed.

"Even if it was only the fact that all her children were around her dinner table at the same time," Charlotte finished with the same sigh in her voice.

"And all her children will be around the table this afternoon," Philippe reminded them. "That is something that is a miracle to be celebrated and Mother would wish us to do so." The smile returned to his face. "I believe we have even found some late season burgundy chrysanthemums in the hothouse. Mathilde is preparing all our favorite dishes." Philippe leaned forward, placing a finger to his lips before speaking. "And we are going to be celebrating in this room."

"What?" Charlotte exclaimed.

"What about Raoul?" Desiree finished her sister's exclamation.

"Raoul and I have been working on building his strength by walking him up and down the stairs," Philippe told them. "It is to be a surprise for Christine. Do not spoil it."

"Ooh, secrets!" Desiree grinned across the table at her younger sister.

"We love secrets!" Charlotte turned to nod at Philippe.

"Some things never change," Philippe said as he reached for the hands of the two women seated on either side of him. "And I would have it no other way!"

The merry feast that Philippe and his sisters planned for that very afternoon was far from the mind of one person at Chagny, his thoughts staying within the walls of the ancient chateau but drifting in a different direction. His thoughts drifted not toward merriment but toward caution, usual thoughts of gaiety turning somber as he contemplated his own actions planned for that very afternoon. He looked at the person staring back at him from the mirror, barely recognizing his own countenance. He drew a deep breath and fixed a smile on his face and sighed, the smile turning into a frown.

"I shall never be able to pull this off," Henri said to himself. "Philippe is never going to accept any trivial excuse which I may offer up." He let out a long angry sigh. "Hells Bells! He will never accept any kind of excuse!" Henri watched as his reflection shook its head at him. "No, I am definitely going to need an accomplice. Someone I can trust. Someone Philippe will trust implicitly." The reflection nodded back at him. "I am going to need Arthur." Henri turned and walked out of his bedroom, going down the stairs and straight to Philippe's study where he knew Arthur could be found organizing the day's work.

Henri watched as Arthur looked up from where he was laying out papers across Philippe's desk, a look of bewilderment upon his face. Henri turned to lock the door to the study behind him and turned back to the room only to find the look on Arthur's face changing to one of slowly simmering anger.

"What do you think you are doing?" Arthur asked evenly, unable to keep the edge from his voice.

"Locking us in," Henri said with a forced smile in his face and in his voice.

"Open that door at once," Arthur commanded, "or I shall do something that I will regret later."

The smile on Henri's face quickly disappeared as he crossed the room to stand at the edge of Philippe's desk. "I know you still do not think very much of me," Henri began. "I know that I have earned such a thing but, Arthur, I need your help!" There was no answer from the man who stared at him. "Please!" Henri pleaded. "I am begging you!" He watched as Arthur carefully studied him and Henri heaved a huge inner sigh as Arthur finally nodded his head.

"What is it that you require of me?" Arthur wondered.

"I need you to come up with some excuse as to why I cannot be here this afternoon," Henri said simply and watched as Arthur's neck began to turn red.

"Are you out of your mind?" Arthur blurted out and raised a hand. "Do not answer that. If you think that you can spend this afternoon carousing God-knows-where doing God-knows-what with God-knows-who then you are truly out of your mind! Philippe will never allow it and I am not about to abet you in this escapade! You can just turn around and walk right out that door!"

Henri struggled not to allow his anger to retort to Arthur's disbelief. "Not even if it meant possibly discovering the identity of the person who was behind what happened to Raoul," he said softly.

A heavy lull descended upon the locked study, two men studying each other. One man looked to see the truth behind the words spoken. The other man looked to see if he had just made the biggest mistake of his life.

"What do you know, Henri?" Arthur finally asked.

Henri took his life in his hands. "It is only a suspicion and I am not even sure. Didier has a different suspicion and I suspect both of us have two separate pieces of the same puzzle." He sighed and shook his head. "If only we could put them together, both of us know we will finally have the proof that Inspector Rousseau needs to arrest the person who hired the men that nearly killed my cousin."

Arthur was quiet for a moment as he absorbed the impact of Henri's words before stepping out from behind Philippe's desk. He grabbed Henri by the arm and nearly dragged the young man toward the fireplace on the far side of the room – away from doors and windows. "What are you saying?" Arthur shook his head. "No, let me rephrase that. What the hell do you think you are saying?"

So, quietly and without any of the theatrics for which he come to be known, Henri told Arthur what had been happening to him since the day Raoul had been taken. He reminded Arthur of the voices he had heard that led to Raoul's rescue. He spoke of the vision he had been seeing since shortly after Raoul had disappeared – the vision of a gold cross. Henri told Arthur of sitting upon horses at the swimming hole with Didier, an old memory passing through his mind. He spoke of returning to the swimming hole again and again – both drunk to the gills and sober as a priest – before finally realizing the cross he had been seeing was the one Raoul always wore. Henri shared with Arthur the secrets that Didier had entrusted to him. He told Arthur of the secret attic room with the box containing vials of powder that were similar to that which the police believed were used on Raoul. He told Arthur of the secret fears Didier had only shared with him – the fears that had haunted a child's dream and now kept a young man up at night for fear of succumbing to them. Henri told Arthur of going to the police with his suspicions, wanting to help but not knowing how, seeking their advice.

"And now we have the perfect opportunity to find something – anything! – that will give us positive proof one way or the other!" Henri exclaimed, a desperate, pleading look on his face. "This may be the only opportunity we will ever have!" There was still no answer from Arthur. "Inspector Rousseau will meet us there! We are not going in to this with our eyes closed, Arthur! Didier and I both know what may happen." Henri drew a deep breath and lowered his voice. "But we also know what may happen if we do not."

It was barely a moment after Henri's voice drifted away into the quiet room before Arthur nodded his head. "I will help," he replied. "I will come up with some excuse that Philippe will find plausible." Arthur nodded his head. "You are correct; he is more likely to believe it coming from me than coming from you." Arthur held up a hand in warning. "But, if you do not return before the end of the party or if anything untoward begins to happen, I shall go right to Philippe and tell him what has been happening. I will not allow anything else to befall anyone in this household." A slight smile crossed his face. "Not even you."

Henri finally remembered to breathe. "Thank you," he said simply. "I shall come to you when I am ready to leave and we can then agree on a reasonable time when I should return." Henri hesitantly held out his hand, feeling some of his building apprehension fade away as Arthur clasped it warmly.

Warmth and anticipation could also be found at Cote de Vallee as the three residents of the great house prepared for the celebration to be held that afternoon. They were gathered in a sunny parlor, a fire burning in the hearth, logs cracking merrily, helping to chase away the frigid air that seeped in through ancient stones.

"What do you think?" Monique asked as she drew back, looking at her handiwork.

"I think," Xavier said as he looked at the gaily wrapped package on the table, "that you have always wrapped the most elegant, enticing packages of anyone I have ever known." He wrapped his arms about his wife's shoulders and felt her hands reach up to lightly caress them.

"Thank you, my dear," Monique replied and her gaze turned toward the other packages scattered about the room. "I must agree; I do nice work."

Xavier planted a kiss on his wife's head before standing upright. "It is one of the things I admire most about you – your ability to create beauty from the merest scraps of things."

"Flatterer," Monique replied with a laugh in her voice. She turned to look at Didier who was standing before the fire. "If you are that chilled," she told him, "perhaps you should find a sweater or a jacket to slip on over your shirt. We do not want anything to prevent you from accompanying us to Chagny this afternoon."

Didier turned from the fire with a smile on his face that he did not feel yet he hoped it appeared sincere. "I am not chilled despite the sudden change of weather outside," he assured the two people who looked at him with worry in their eyes. "I was just playing an old childhood game."

"I do not remember any childhood game that involved fire," Xavier said, a puzzled from creasing his brow. "Is this something that I should be concerned about?" he wondered with a wink and a nod.

"No," Didier replied with a smile and shake of his head. He began to cross the room toward his cousins. "I used to love to sit in front of the fire on cold evenings and study the flames. I would imagine that I could see all sorts of faces and creatures in the flickering flames. I would make up stories about them." He sighed as he stopped by Xavier's side. "It was the silly thoughts of a young boy and the even sillier wish of a young man trying to recapture a bit of his innocence."

"I do not think you have done anything to lose your innocence," Xavier replied and chuckled as he took note of the blush that crept up his wife's cheeks. "Or am I completely wrong on that point?"

Monique's blush had also not gone unnoticed by Didier but he had seen something that Xavier had missed. Didier saw the knowing light that had flashed so quickly through Monique's violet eyes and he knew he dared not make any mistakes before the game could reach its justified ending. "I do not think such a thing is to be discussed in mixed company," Didier replied, nodding his head slightly at Monique before turning to Xavier. "I promise I shall tell all when we return from Chagny this evening." There was a distinct twinkle in his golden-brown eyes. "If – and only if – you promise to break out the aged brandy and if we can sit before a cheery fire."

"The simple needs of the young," Xavier sighed, placing a hand on his wife's shoulder, long fingers massaging the tense muscles beneath. "Would that we were that young again!"

"I do not know that I would wish to be that young again," Monique replied and smiled up at the worried face that looked down at her. "Yet I do know that I should wish it were I to be able to share it again with you and with the knowledge of how happy we would always be together."

Xavier leaned over and placed a kiss on his wife's forehead, allowing his lips to linger. "You are the greatest treasure I have ever discovered and I am so lucky to have captured you," he whispered before drawing back.

"And I am so very glad you caught me," Monique whispered back.

"I think I feel ill," Didier muttered to no one in particular.

"You say that now, my dear lad," Xavier told him. "I promise not to remind you of such a comment when you finally marry the woman that you love."

"I – on the other hand – make no such promise," Monique told Didier.

"I can see that I am doomed to a life of unending debauched bachelorhood," Didier sighed, a look of mock resignation crossing his handsome face, before he broke into an infectious laughter that drew both Xavier and Monique into his mirth. A stray thought passed through Didier's mind that this would not be the last time he would laugh with such abandon. A prayer followed quickly on the heels of Didier's thought that God would not all this be the last time he would laugh.

Stray thoughts, passing prayers, words that could only be formed in emotional sighs were passing through the mind of the woman who stood looking out at the snow-covered garden, the heavy-laden branches of trees just beyond.

"What are you thinking?" Antoinette wondered as she stared at Tallis' rigid back.

"I do not even know," Tallis whispered back. Her head shook slightly. "No, I do know what I am thinking but I do not have the words to express what is in my head and heart and soul."

Antoinette fought down the urge to laugh; Tallis sounded so much like Erik in that moment. "Try," she urged instead.

"I … I …" Tallis struggled with her inner turmoil, refusing to turn to look at Antoinette, preferring instead to stare out at the garden that had witnessed so much of her happiness. "I feel like the garden upon which I look. Erik and I had so many happy moments there. We laughed and we talked and we danced and we kissed and we fought. It was like a fairy tale come true for me. I was falling in love with the beast and he loved me back. I was turning him into a man and he was turning me into a woman." Tallis hung her head, closing her eyes against the tears that threatened. "I should have known it was only a dream," she said with a soft sadness. "I should have known. Now my dreams are as dead and cold as that garden." She finally turned to look at Antoinette. "Why do we always destroy the one thing we want most in this world?"

Antoinette patted the sofa upon which she sat and waited until Tallis had walked over and sat beside her. Antoinette took Tallis' hands in her own, squeezing them lightly. "My dear," she began gently, "we are not Gods or prophets, we are only human beings who go through each day trying to do the best that we can with what we are given. One of the things we are given is free-will and what we chose to do with that gift is either our greatest blessing or our most dreaded curse." Antoinette sighed. "First Erik and now you have made your decisions. He could have chosen to fight harder for you. You could have chosen to accept what he had to offer to you. Each of you has made your decisions based upon what was in your hearts at the time. Were your hearts wrong? Were your decisions wrong?" Antoinette shook her head. "That is something I cannot say. Only you can look deep within your heart and know the truth that lies there." She smiled slightly. "What you can do now is take the free-will you have, acknowledge it as a blessing and use that blessing to pull Erik from his darkness, to pull yourself from your own darkness. Then you must take your blessing – that choice you have freely made – and graciously and without question accept it with every flaw it presents to you. You know that is the only way you shall ever be happy or complete." Antoinette nodded. "It is the only way that Erik shall ever be happy or complete."

A single tear slipped from the corner of Tallis' eye and she took back a hand, a finger wiping it away. She sighed deeply, worried eyes studying the face of the woman seated next to her. "I know," Tallis said. "I know." She turned her head to once again look out toward the garden. "I only hope I am not too late," she whispered, a feeling of dread beginning to wrap its cold fingers about her.

Slowly the frigid morning progressed into a bright afternoon, the overhead sun making the snow sparkle like diamonds but doing little to chase away the chill. Plans continued to be made, food prepared, gifts wrapped, maps memorized. The Earth continued to turn and high noon slowly began to creep into late afternoon, the sun beginning to lower in the sky, the shadows lengthening and deepening earlier in the shorter days of winter. The fingers of dread that Tallis had felt began to creep forth from those shadows, wrapping around the hearts of all those who knew and feared the possibilities of what the coming hours could bring.


	78. Chapter 78

**Chapter Summary:** Now the final pieces of the puzzle begin to be revealed. And so it begins …

_**Author's Note:** I know that there will be those of you going – "Ha! I knew that from the beginning!" There will be others saying "Well, that was not who I thought it would be!". Still others will be saying: "That is just so typical. Make that person the bad guy!" Well, folks, I have had "the bad guy" planned from the start and I was not going to change my mind. I hope that some of you caught (what I thought) were the subtle clues. I hope that some of you are surprised. And for those of you who are disappointed at who is behind all of this – well – I am the author and I am very jealous of my sandbox and my toys and I do not like change! I just hope all of you have enjoyed the story to this point and will continue to stick around – there are still more surprises to come!_

CHAPTER SEVENTY EIGHT

"I tell you truthfully that I do not like this cold menace that seems to have blown in directly from Hell," Chief Inspector Robert Pichette said as he studied the white landscape beyond his window, hands clasped behind his back. There was no answer to his comment and he turned so that he could survey the office behind him. Pichette shook his head as he studied the young man standing at attention at the corner of his desk. "I am not so sure that what you planning is the wisest course of action at the moment." He moved to the seat behind his desk, waving Guy Rousseau to the other seat and waiting until the younger man sat down. "I have a bad feeling about this day, about what you and those two young men are planning on doing. I think we should call it off. The men from the Ministry will be here in three days time with the gendarmes who will be transporting our prisoners back to Paris." Pichette thought silently for a moment. "No," he said with a shake of his head, "there is no need to proceed as you have planned. Let the men from the Ministry handle any further questioning and details – it is that for which they are trained. You must find some way to stop what those young men wish to do."

Inspector Guy Rousseau bit his bottom lip as he thought silently. He, too, had felt the change in the air that morning upon arising. It was a change that had little to do with the sudden drop in temperature and more to do with the chill that seeped into one's bones, into one's soul. Rousseau – like the man seated across from him and whom he hoped one day to emulate – was not a person given to fanciful wanderings of the mind. He had long ago stopped believing in fairy stories where good always triumphed over evil; he had been a police officer too long to believe that. He had seen real evil triumph over good too many times to believe that any sensation he felt in the frigid morning air was not real. "I wish there was some way to stop what is about to happen," he reluctantly admitted. "Yet how can I do so without giving away our hand? How can I do so without putting the lives of those two young men into danger?"

Pichette began the familiar habit of tapping his pen against the desktop as he worked out logistics in the corridors of his mind. He tried to see every possible option and all the consequences that veered off from a decision that was made. "Do you know the direction that Lord de Chagny will be taking to your destination?"

Rousseau was glad that he had long ago learned to ignore the irritating "tap tap tap" of the pen. "There are several routes he could possibly take from Chagny but I believe he will take the most direct route."

"Then you must find somewhere close to Chagny in which to wait for him. You must stop him before he reaches his destination."

"I agree," Rousseau nodded and then frowned. "But that still leaves Monsieur de la Censiere. We dare not leave him on his own for he is the most fragile and vulnerable part of our plan. He all ready has doubts and fears that he reluctantly expresses. Even if I should meet up with Lord de Chagny, we must go to our final destination if for no other reason than to get Monsieur de la Censiere away from there."

Quiet once again descended upon the room as Pichette thought carefully on Rousseau's words. "Agreed," he said. "I will give you this last chance. You are to meet up with Lord de Chagny and then the two of you shall proceed to meet with Monsieur de la Censiere. Should it come to pass that Monsieur has not found that which he and de Chagny believe resides within the walls of Cote de Vallee, then the three of you shall immediately return to this station and we shall place the two young men under our guard." Pichette shook his head grimly as Rousseau opened his mouth to say something. "No, I shall brook no disagreement upon this issue. There has been too much danger and sorrow already and I will not have the actions of any men under my command add to any family's grief."

"Understood." A thought passed Rousseau's mind. "But what of Comte de Chagny? What shall we tell him?"

"Leave the Comte to me," Pichette replied softly, the tapping of the pen stopping as he calmly folded his hands on the desk before him. "I am far enough along in my career that I have managed to save for a rainy day and my wife's family has a large farm with an empty, small but comfortable house." He nodded to himself. "I shall have the two young men tell me what they suspect and then I shall take that information to the Comte."

"But sir …" Rousseau interrupted.

"No," Pichette replied. "This is how it is to be or you shall not leave this office." The ghost of a smile passed quickly across his lips as he watched the young man before him accept his orders and compose his features. "I have picked and trained my successor well."

Rousseau bowed his head. "Sir…"

"No," Pichette told him. "Do not say anything. Just go and save those two young men from themselves." He waited until Rousseau had risen to his feet. "And do your best to find the proof that we need."

"I will never do anything less," Rousseau replied with a nod and turned smartly on his heel to leave the office, closing the door quietly behind him.

"I did not expect otherwise," Chief Inspector Pichette said as he turned his attention to the newest telegrams arrived from Paris.

Expectations – or the lack, thereof – were on the minds of the people who sat around the huge front parlor at Chagny. A cheery fire blazed away in the hearth, a few stray puffs of smoke escaped from the updraft of the chimney sending the sweet scent of apple wood throughout the room. The heavy air of depression that had descended upon Chagny months ago had seemed to vanish over the last weeks as fears were admitted and shared, sins – both real and imagined – confessed and forgiven. Now happy excitement and eager anticipation permeated the ancient chateau from wall to wall and turret to cellar.

"I am glad the party is to be upstairs," Christine said as she adjusted her position on the sofa upon which she sat. She winced slightly and reached out to massage her side. "I do not know just how many more times I am going to be able to climb all those stairs." She turned to Meg who sat at her side. "And just think how many stairs there are at your Paris home," Christine told Meg, her eyes twinkling with merriment.

Meg sat up a bit straighter and squared her shoulders. "I am not such a poor creature as that!" she exclaimed. "And I am my mother's daughter!" She winked at Christine. "Maman would never approve of me using a pregnancy as an excuse for anything."

"Other than chocolate," Desiree chirped up from where she stood next to the fire.

"Since when did you ever need an excuse for chocolate?" Charlotte wondered as she raised her eyes from the book she was reading.

Christine's lips curled into a bright smile. "Since when did anyone in this family ever need an excuse for chocolate? Your brother would eat an entire chocolate cake if he thought he could get away with it."

"And how do you know I have not?" a rather tired voice asked.

Christine turned her head, her eyes wide, her mouth opening in surprise at the sight of her husband standing in the doorway, clinging to his brother's arm. She did not notice the knowing glances that passed between the other people in the room for all of her attention focused on Raoul moving slowly toward her. Christine noticed that Raoul leaned heavily on Philippe for support and she fought back the urge to bite her lip or frown in sympathy. Instead she raised her hands, fingers flexing, waiting for Raoul to take them in his own.

"I believe this seat belongs to you," Meg said with a smile as she rose to her feet, lightly touching Raoul on the arm before turning to Val who had appeared at her side and taking his hand.

"All right?" Philippe wondered as he helped Raoul to sit. He let go of his brother as Raoul reached for the hands that his wife offered.

"My legs are shaky and I am a bit winded," Raoul admitted and finally drew his gaze away from the brown eyes that looked at him with such joy and admiration. He looked around the parlor at the family and friends surrounding him and saw the same look in their eyes. "But it is so good to downstairs, to be here, to be surrounded by family and friends." Raoul drew a deep breath to steady his emotions. "It is just so good to be home." He turned toward the woman who gently squeezed the hands to which she held. "I will never take any of this – any of you – for granted ever again," he promised softly, leaning toward Christine, lightly kissing lips he had never thought to taste again.

Christine studied her husband's face as he pulled back, burning his tired features into memory, smiling in admiration at what he had accomplished in barely six weeks. "When did … how did …" Christine shook her head. "This is such a wonderful surprise!" she laughed. "But how did you manage without my finding out?" She watched as Raoul turned to look at Philippe and Christine followed his gaze.

"My doing," Philippe admitted. "Monsieur Corhei wanted Raoul to participate in varied activities to build up his strength. I suggested the staircase." He allowed a smile to cross his face. "We wanted it to be a surprise for you."

Raoul turned back to his wife. "You have no idea how soundly you sleep during your afternoon naps," he told Christine. "I would go and work with Philippe and return to you before you awoke." A sheepish grin crossed his face, something that had not been seen in months. "I was going to say that you would have no idea of how hard it is to go up and down those stairs," a single hand reached out to caress the rapidly expanding swell of Christine's middle, "but I think you do know."

"_Thank you,"_ Christine mouthed to Philippe before breaking into a combination of tears and laughter and wrapping her arms about her husband. "I love you, I love you," she kept whispering into Raoul's ear as she felt his arms go about her, one hand lightly massaging between her shoulder blades, the other doing the same action at the base of her spine.

"I think we are decidedly out of place," Philippe said softly, a grin on his face. He caught the eye of his sisters and nodded toward the door. He watched as Charlotte rose to her feet, both women walking over to their younger brother, placing light, congratulatory kisses on his cheeks, before leaving the room. Philippe rested a single hand on Raoul's shoulder. "I believe I shall leave you to spend some quiet moments with your friends."

Raoul smiled at Val and Meg. "Thank you," he said as he turned back to his brother. "I am exhausted and I would like to spend some time making plans for Paris before I fall asleep." Raoul rolled his eyes. "Again."

"I think the mere fact that you are even thinking of making plans for the future is just another reason to celebrate," Philippe replied with a grin and turned to address Meg and Val. "I shall leave you young people to it while I return to the thankless task of keeping my sisters from pulling out each other's hair over the arrangements for this afternoon."

Philippe walked across the room and turned to close the double doors behind him, taking one last glance at the two couples who were now seated across from each other. The sound of four different voices rising in laughter swelled Philippe's heart as he turned from the closed door and he let out a long sigh, surveying the halls about him. His eye caught a movement from the bottom of the grand staircase and he turned toward it, a look of confused uncertainty passed over his face. Philippe stood quietly, staring at the two men talking at the bottom of the staircase, their voices low, unable to carry or echo off the high ceilings of the chateau, until he could stand quietly no longer. Philippe's long legs carried him quickly to the sides of the two men. "May I ask what is going on?"

Two heads quickly swiveled in Philippe's direction, stunned reactions upon finding him there quickly replaced by guilt at being caught.

"We are talking," Henri shrugged with a practiced air of nonchalance.

Philippe crossed his arms about his chest and turned toward his trusted aide, an eyebrow going up. "Talking?" he asked Arthur. "You and my cousin are talking."

"Yes," Arthur replied calmly.

Philippe was having none of it. "I know you both," he reminded them. "I know that neither of you is comfortable with the other." Philippe shook his head. "And I am expected to believe that the two of you stand here, voices lowered in private conversation and there is not a reason for such a thing other than polite talk." He looked at Arthur. "I know that my staff thinks I can be easily distracted at times." Philippe turned his attention to Henri. "And I know that you think I am a fool who does not know what mischief you create." He grew solemn. "But I am neither and I want an answer and I want it now or neither of you will get beyond this point for the rest of the day."

Arthur looked at Henri, their silent communication speaking volumes that Philippe found he could not understand. Arthur turned back to his friend and employer. "Yes, we are talking quietly and for a purpose," he said simply.

Philippe turned on Henri. "If you have gotten into any form of trouble …" he began and was interrupted by Arthur.

"He has not done any such thing," Arthur assured Philippe and steeled his resolve as he prepared to tell the biggest falsehood of his life. "He is going to run an errand for me."

"With the party only hours away?" Philippe was incredulous.

"It is meant to be a surprise," Henri said softly, following Arthur's lead. "I should not be gone very long." Henri briefly glanced sideways at Arthur, drawing strength from the trust that had suddenly been placed in his oft faltering judgment. "Please, Philippe," he pleaded, "allow me to bring the surprise home."

"I do not think you will be disappointed," Arthur finished.

Both men waited as Philippe withdrew into private thought. He looked from one man to the other, foot tapping against the stone floor, fingers tapping against his arm. Finally Philippe let out a long sigh. "Fine," he said, his tone indicating it was anything but fine. He looked at Henri. "Go and do whatever it is the two of you have plotted out." Philippe was puzzled at the relieved sigh that escaped Henri's lips and turned to Arthur. "I am trusting you on this, do not let me down."

"When have I ever done such a thing?" Arthur asked. Philippe just shook his head and disappeared down a hallway, leaving Arthur and Henri once again standing alone at the bottom of the grand staircase. Arthur placed a hand on Henri's arm. "Godspeed," he said simply, watching as Henri walked to the valet and took a coat, scarf and gloves from the young man's hands and disappeared through the front door of Chagny and down the stone steps to the waiting horse.

Even as Henri walked down the stairs, slipping on gloves and wrapping the scarf about his throat, across the valley Didier was climbing the dusty stairs to the attic of Cote de Vallee. He paused halfway up the staircase, turning around to assure himself that he had, indeed, closed the door behind him. Didier turned back and looked upward into the dimly lit attic that held shadows of past lives, where nearly invisible creatures danced in the dim light that filtered in through small windows. His footsteps seemed to echo loudly in his ears as he continued to climb ever upward into that land where his destiny – or his death – awaited him. Didier paused as he finally reached the attic floor, shaking his head. "I cannot," he whispered to himself, "and must not think such things." Didier looked about himself, at the detritus of history accumulated by the men and women who had gone before him. "I am nothing like you," he hissed to the inanimate objects. "Nothing," he repeated. "I cannot be," Didier finished sadly. "I cannot be."

His attention was drawn from the family history he so feared and toward the small room on the far side of the attic. Didier draw a deep breath and wrapped what courage he could from from deep within about him like one of the suits of armor that hid in the shadows, waiting and watching for him to make one fatal misstep. Didier ignored them as he walked toward the room, his hand slipping into the pocket of his pants and pulling out the key he had surreptitiously taken from a locked drawer in a locked desk. An amazed thought passed through Didier's mind that he had gotten so good at something that could be considered criminal. "I am nothing like you," he responded softly to that thought as he slipped the key into the door of the small room.

Didier pushed the door open and walked in, pausing just beyond the threshold as the weight of what he was about to do descended upon his shoulders and his conscience. The young man closed his eyes and hung his head as he struggled with the dueling responsibilities of what he owed to his name and what he owed to his everlasting soul. Didier stood as still and as silent as the grave, the only outward sign of emotion, the clenching and unclenching of the hands that hung limp at his sides. "I am nothing like you," he repeated again, his whisper tremulous and uncertain. "I am nothing like you." Didier slowly began to raise his head, a determined glow beginning in the back of his eyes. His lips set into a thin line. "I am nothing like you," he repeated again, the five words becoming a litany that strengthened his resolve as he set his sights on his goal.

The desk sat against the wall where it had sat for years uncounted. It was covered in the dust of those years save for a few clean spots where hands had been, hands that had searched for the truth and hands that had hidden the truth away. Inside the drawers of that desk were old letters and even older papers. Hidden in the cubby holes were treasures just waiting to be found by an adventurous child on a rainy afternoon. The desk held pieces of the puzzle that made up a family history, broken pieces, neglected pieces, pieces without a mate. Yet each one – when placed with the others – told a complete story. And Didier knew exactly what piece of the puzzle it was for which he searched.

He found it where it had always been – in the top right hand drawer. His trembling hands reached in and pulled out the leather case. Didier placed the box down upon the desk, taking another key from his pocket and unlocking the lid. He opened the lid, a single finger from each hand reaching to opposite corners of the velvet that lined the lid. Didier twitched his fingers and the cover fell away and tears welled in his eyes as he stared again at the tiny engraved plaque hidden beneath. He stood for a moment as he let his emotions wash over him, knowing that he was about to turn his back on his family history in favor of the disposition of his eternal soul. Didier carefully placed the velvet back into the lid and closed the box, picking it up and turning to walk out of the room.

Didier did not lock the door to the small room knowing that no one had seen him climb all the way to the attic. As he crossed the attic floor, his strength and resolve grew stronger with each step as he knew that shortly Henri and Inspector Rousseau would be meeting him. Didier was no longer frightened. He no longer saw evil creatures in the dust that danced in the filtered light. He no longer saw clawed fingers in the deep shadows. He no longer saw ghosts moving in the dark corners.

"I am nothing like you," Didier said as he paused at the stop of the staircase leading back to the main floors of the chateau. He turned his head to look behind, chasing away the fears of a child for the conviction of a man. "I am nothing like you," he repeated his comforting litany as he turned back to the stairs, one hand holding to the box, the other hand reaching for the banister.

"It is a good thing you are not," a voice hissed from behind him.

Didier had no chance to react and the only sound he made was a "whoosh" as the air was forced from his lungs by the blow that caught him between the shoulder blades. There was only a moment for a quick thought – _"I am going to die."_ – to pass through Didier's mind before he began to tumble head over heels down the steep attic steps. He finally landed in a motionless ball against the closed door, the box and its contents laying broken all long the stairs.

The person at the top of the stairs slowly descended, careful to avoid splintered wood and broken glass. The person paused at the last step, eyes drifting downward as they surveyed the still young man. Cold eyes burned with unseemly mirth at the sight of the blood that trailed downward from a deep gash along Didier's scalp line. Toes encased in sharply pointed footwear kicked out roughly, jostling the stationary figure, eliciting no response. The person bent over and placed two fingers along Didier's neck, waiting for a moment as the fingers finally detected a very faint pulse. The person straightened. "You are nothing like us," came the whispered mockery of Didier's litany. A decidedly wicked smile crossed the person's face. "And soon it will not matter," the person finished remembering the failing pulse fingers had felt. The person reached forward to open the attic door and stepped over Didier before turning around and shoving Didier's still figure back into the dimly lit staircase before closing the door.

Feet quickly carried the person down the hall and through another closed door. The door was opened as the person stepped into the bedroom darkened by heavy draperies that had been pulled shut against the afternoon light. A hand reached behind the person and closed the door, expertly turning the key in the lock. The person waited until their eyes had grown used to the dim light before crossing to the bed to stand motionless, surveying the figure that stared groggily back.

"Did you think I did not know what you did all these years?" the person asked and moved around, sitting down next to the figure whose eyes followed every move. "Did you not think I enjoyed making everything pleasant for you?" A single hand reached out to feel the hands beneath the bedding, knowing they were bound tightly – as tightly as the feet. "Did you think I truly like punishing you for each little indiscretion?" Hands cupped the face of the person in the bed, fingers assuring that the gag was tight and could not be wriggled loose. "But this time the punishment shall be final. There shall be no further chances for escape." The person leaned over and kissed the forehead of the prisoner on the bed. "Everyone will come with me." The person stood, a smug, self-satisfied smile playing over lips. "Do you not think I have wrapped everything up quite neatly?"

The person turned on heel, ignoring the struggles of the prisoner left behind on the bed, knowing that the drug would soon take effect. The person hated doing what needed to be done in this instance but at least with this person there would be no pain as there had been with Didier, the drug would merely lull them into a sleep from which they would never awaken. The person sighed as the stairs to the main floor of the chateau were descended for the last time. There was no servant waiting at the door with coat and gloves and scarf; that small detail had been seen to by giving every servant the day off. Another smile passed over the person's face as they realized how eagerly the servants had been to take the opportunity presented to them and how easily all the pieces of his puzzle had fallen into place. The person shrugged into the outerwear placed near the front door only hours ago before leaving Cote de Vallee for the last time. The person walked down the snow-covered walkway, little caring for the fact that the snow clung to the hem of their clothing, weighing it down and mounted the horse waiting patiently at the end of the walk. The person turned the horse's head and began to walk the animal carefully down the drive with never a look back at the dead house or a thought for the two who's ghosts would soon join the others who haunted the now quiet halls.

The horse and rider moved easily through familiar pathways, their destination not yet in sight but known and anticipated. The rider was quiet as plans for the afternoon were gone over and over again; there could be nothing left to chance. There could be no missteps taken, no mistakes made. Bridges had been burned and there would be nothing to which to return should any piece of the puzzle be overlooked. The rider was so lost in silent, inner contemplation that the horse was trusted to know the way to the final destination. And it was the snorting of the horse that finally drew the rider back to the world about him. Eyes quickly scanned the surrounding white countryside, seeing another rider approach. The evil grin returned to lips as the stance of the approaching rider was recognized and an unknown, unexpected but lucky happenstance fell from Heaven. The rider gave an imperceptible nudge in the horse's ribs as reins were slightly pulled back, the horse drawing up suddenly, the rider dismounting, reaching down to lift one of the horse's legs.

"Hello!" Henri called out, seeing the rider approaching him and suddenly stopping. Henri spurred his own horse forward. "Hello!" he called again. "Is there a problem?"

The person bent over the horse's leg raised their head. "Thank the Lord it is you," the person sighed in relief.

"What happened?" Henri wondered as he sat atop the horse that pawed at the cold snow beneath its hooves.

"I do not know," the person willingly lied, the innocence upon their face hiding true intentions. "I was riding on my way to Chagny and suddenly my mount pulled up short."

Henri dismounted and walked his horse to one of the nearby trees that lined the familiar country lane, wrapping the reins around the trunk. He turned back and walked over to the other horse and rider. Henri looked around. "Where is everyone else?" he asked, a slight sinking feeling beginning in the pit of his stomach, a warm smile from the other rider chasing away Henri's nerves.

"They are coming in the carriage," the other person replied. "There were too many presents that needed to come with us for them to be transported upon horseback!" The person carefully placed the horse's leg back down and straightened. "I decided to come a bit early and see if there was anything I could do to help. I am sure Desiree and Charlotte are driving Philippe to distraction."

"They are," Henri admitted with a smile and nodded toward the horse's leg. "Would you like me to look at that?" he asked. "If there is a serious problem, I will stay here with the horse and you can ride mine back to Chagny and get help." He turned to look hesitantly at his horse before turning back. "It is an English saddle."

The other person nodded. "I think I can manage that," came the reply and smile.

"I am sure of it Henri said as he ran a gloved hand down the horse's neck. "Now, let us see what it is that troubles you." He bent over and lifted the horse's leg, fingers moving gently about the hoof. "I do not see anything prominent," Henri said.

"Then, perhaps, you are not looking hard enough," the other person said as the butt end of a pistol came down upon the base of Henri's skull. As Henri began to slump to the snow-covered ground, the pistol struck him on the side of his head. A foot reached out to kick the now unconscious Henri out of the way, the person once again mounting their horse, pausing to gaze down at the figure lying spread-eagled in the snow. "Do you not think I know what you and Didier have been doing?" The person asked knowing there would be no answer. "Nothing must get in the way of what must be done," the person said and spurred the horse forward, leaving Henri on the cold ground, buffeted by the winds that had suddenly picked up.

It did not take long for the person to cover the remaining distance to the destination they sought. Horse and rider paused briefly at the end of the drive to Chagny, surveying that which had been denied for far too long. Eyes drifted upward to the two different banners flying in the wind atop the east and west towers. "Nice to know you are both in residence," the person muttered. "How convenient." The person urged their horse down the drive, pausing at the bottom of the front stairs, dismounting and slipping the reins through the hitching post.

Each footfall that climbed up the stairs to the front door of Chagny was a calming balm to a racing heart. So close, everything was finally so close. Years of waiting and planning as pieces slowly fell into place were soon to be ended. The goal was finally within sight and everything would soon be as it should always have been. The person reached the front door and raised a hand to knock but did not have the chance. The door was opened and Philippe stood there, a warm smile on his face for an old and well-loved friend.

"Xavier!" Philippe exclaimed as he held out his hand.

"Philippe," Xavier replied with a smile.


	79. Chapter 79

**Chapter Summary: **Inspector Rousseau comes across Xavier's victims. Tallis finds herself wishing the afternoon along anxious to get to Erik – no matter the cost. And at the end of a pleasant evening, Xavier finds himself alone with Raoul and Christine … to say goodbye …

_**Author's Note:** Okay folks, I am going to tell you that as you read through this chapter that it is important to remember to breathe ... breathe in ... breathe out ... repeat as necessary and Enjoy! (insert evil cackle here!)_

CHAPTER SEVENTY NINE

Cold.

The first thing Henri could feel was cold, nothing but the cold all around. And dark; it was so very dark. Perhaps he had one of his drunken afternoons, stumbled home and opened the window for some fresh air before falling into bed. That must have been it, he had gotten drunk and fallen into bed. Now he could not find the energy or the will to get up from bed to close that damn window and the snow had probably been blowing in through the opening. Henri smiled as he imagined how irritated Philippe would be when he saw the mess in the room. Henri could even hear the lecture Mathilde would surely give him for allowing such a thing to happen. The smile disappeared from his thought as he pictured the stern, disproving look he would receive from Arthur.

Arthur.

Why did that name, the picture of the man, stir such a fire in his heart? Henri thought about it for a moment and could not find the strength to spare another moment for Arthur. All he wanted to do was roll over and go back to sleep. Yet Henri found his limbs would not respond to his commands. He thought it must have been hell of an afternoon. He knew it must have been for he could already feel the headache that followed such things beginning. Henri sighed – it was just one more of those things for which he could not spare any energy. He could not find the strength to get up and close the window. He could not find the desire to pull the blankets up around himself to ward off the cold. He could not care about the morning's lectures or the morning's headache. Henri was cold and tired and all he wanted to do was sleep. So why did that damn voice keep calling out his name? Did the person not know enough to leave him alone?

"Lord de Chagny," someone was calling to him, shaking his shoulder.

Henri told the person to go away and leave him alone, unaware that the sounds that passed his lips were completely unintelligible.

"Henri!" the voice called with more urgency.

"What?" Henri finally managed to say as he felt a hand creep beneath his neck to slowly lift his head. "Dammit, man!" Henri growled as someone's fingers prodded at the base of his head, turning his familiar headache into a very good imitation of a blacksmith's iron and anvil.

"You must open your eyes!" someone ordered Henri.

"No," Henri slurred as he somehow found the strength to bat away the hands that were trying to lift him to a sitting position. "Put me down and let me sleep."

"Open your eyes now, damn it!" a voice shouted at the top of its lungs.

"Fine," Henri muttered and slowly his eyes began to open and they quickly snapped shut as the light forced the pounding in his head to turn into one constant, unending beat. "Oh God," Henri breathed. "Just let me go back to sleep!"

"Henri," the voice spoke as the emotional urgency in its tone growing with each word. "This is Inspector Rousseau. You must open your eyes! You must get to your feet!"

Henri heard words - through the beating pain in his head that echoed the beating of his heart – which made no sense. He barely managed to turn his head a fraction of an inch, slitting his eyes open to stare at the man kneeling next to him. "Inspector?" Henri breathed and then stronger, "Inspector?" Henri opened his eyes a little further, finally beginning to look about himself. "Where … what…" His attention turned back to Inspector Rousseau. "What happened?" Henri's eyes looked down at the snow in which he sat, finally beginning to feel the cold wet clothes that covered his body. "Why am I sitting in the snow?" Henri slowly lifted a hand to gently touch the area in his temple that pounded so hard. "Ouch!" he said as he quickly withdrew his hand. Some instinct told Henri that there would be another sore spot on the back of his head.

"What is the last thing that you remember?" Rousseau asked as he began to help Henri to his feet. "Not so fast," he said as Henri began to sway and he tightened his grip on the young man.

"I was speaking to…" Henri frowned and winced, the effort to think nearly too much for him to handle. Suddenly his eyes grew wide and he turned to Rousseau, no longer caring as the world spun and began to grow dark before his eyes. "I was speaking to Arthur and then I left to meet with you and…" The color drained from Henri's face. "Didier," he breathed.

Another person in another part of France was also finding the emotional tension brought about by fear and anticipation nearly too much to bear as she drew back the drape and looked out at the window at the afternoon sky that was slowly beginning to darken. Tallis stood quietly, biting her lip, her foot beginning to tap. She raised her eyes to the sun and began to wish her life away. She wished the sun to hurry and set. She wished the afternoon shadows to lengthen into the purple shades of twilight. She wished her friend would leave the comfort of his cousin's home and arrive at the front door of the home in which she stayed, the dark horses and dark carriage ready for whatever the evening might bring.

"Whatever the evening might bring," Tallis whispered softly as she let the drape fall back into place.

"Looking at the world outside will do nothing to hurry time along," a voice said from behind her.

Tallis turned around to look at Antoinette sitting in a comfortable chair; a book opened on her lap, glasses perched at the end of her nose. "My mind knows that but my heart does not," Tallis replied as she walked to the sofa and sat down. "It is all I can do to not run about from room to room, screaming like a banshee."

"Banshee?" Antoinette asked with a raised eyebrow. "Erik must have been telling you fairy stories."

"I can be nervous without him," Tallis replied and held out her hands for Antoinette to see, they were shaking and Tallis quickly folded them into her lap.

"But you were never this nervous before you fell in love with him," Antoinette reminded her friend. "He has a habit of doing that to people – putting them off their guard – without even realizing he has done so. Are you ready to spend a lifetime living in such a manner?"

Tallis sniffed and stuck her nose in the air. "It would not be a lifetime," she said softly, "for I am not like this when I am with him."

Antoinette said nothing but smile and turned her eyes back to her book.

It took only a moment for Tallis to once again rise to her feet. She began to pace, wringing her hands. "Why do I try to fool myself?" she asked to no one in particular. "Why do I let him do this to me? I do not even know what may meet my eyes should I survive all his devious traps!" Tallis continued to pace for a few minutes, unaware of Antoinette looked at her from beneath her lashes. Tallis finally stopped in her pacing and plopped down on the sofa, her hands continuing to fiddle with each other. "Who am I really trying to fool? I know it is not myself." She sighed and leaned back on the sofa. "I have all ready fallen into the most devious of his traps – I fell in love with him." Suddenly Tallis sat bolt upright. "Oh no," she said as her head began to shake. "He would not have… He could not have… He did not…" Tallis could not finish her thought.

"Erik would not or could not or did not what?" Antoinette wondered as she lifted her head so that she could stare at Tallis.

Tallis did not have an answer for her.

"Shall I tell you?" Antoinette said as she closed her book. "He would not make you fall in love with him. He could not make you fall in love with him. And he most certainly did not make you fall in love with him." A slight, wistful smile crossed Antoinette's face. "Erik may be devious. He may be cruel. He may even be evil at times. I have no doubt as to the makeup of his character and, therefore, I am under no illusions. But you fell in love with him and he only responded to that which he saw. He fell in love with you because you loved him first." Antoinette shook her head. "It is as simple as that," she finished as – once again – she opened her book.

Tallis thought silently for a moment upon Antoinette's words before rising to her feet and beginning to walk toward the window that looked out over the snow-covered back garden. "I am so sorry, Erik," her softly breathed words carried back over her shoulder, causing Antoinette to nod knowingly. Tallis could not see that for all her attention was focused on the world beyond the warmth of the sitting room. She pulled back the drape again and her foot resumed its tapping. "Oh do please hurry this day along, God," Tallis prayed as she continued to wish her life away.

Other wishes, other prayers were on the lips of the two men who walked down the pathway to Cote de Vallee, Inspector Rousseau still offering a steadying support to a faltering Henri. Inspector Rousseau had gotten Henri to his feet from where he had lain unconscious in the snow. He had been unable to deter the young man from continuing his journey; Henri having been certain that his cousin would be safe surrounded by a room full of family. Inspector Rousseau had reluctantly agreed with that conclusion as both of their thoughts turned to the person Henri had named as his attacker and then to the person they had originally been going to meet. Neither man had a good feeling about the fate of their companion or the other person who was missing. Henri had hoped - as Inspector Rousseau helped him mount the horse that had remained tied to the tree - that Didier and Monique were – indeed – safe at Chagny. Yet that hope began to quickly fade as they had approached Cote de Vallee and it faded exponentially as the two men approached the darkened, still house.

"It does not appear as if anyone is home," Rousseau said as he surveyed the great house from the front portico. "I do not even think there is a servant home." His eyes drifted upward to the chimneys. "Not even a puff of smoke," he said quietly.

"Damn it all to Hell," Henri muttered, his words still somewhat slurred. His hand reached for the knob to the front door and turned, the door opening. He turned his head to look at Rousseau, closing his eyes for a moment against the spinning world.

"This is not good," Rousseau said softly as he looked into the darkened house before turning to Henri. "Do you know where your friend was looking for the evidence he knew about? If you can tell me, I will go and see what is there?"

"There is a small room in the attic." Henri reached out to grab tightly to Rousseau's arm. "But you are not going without me!" Henri insisted.

"You are in no condition to be climbing stairs," Rousseau tried.

"Then I shall go without you," Henri replied and stumbled into the darkened house, heading toward the main staircase. He paused at the bottom for a moment, a hand reaching out to the banister, steadying a body still weak, chilled and disoriented. Henri felt a hand on his arm and turned to see Inspector Rousseau standing beside him.

"We shall both go," Rousseau told Henri as they began to climb the stairs. "Are all you de Chagny's this stubborn and ill-tempered?" he wondered, forgetting his station as two men worked together in the midst of evil toward a common goal.

"It is a family trait," Henri said as they reached the second floor. He suddenly grew very quiet. "Can you hear that?"

Rousseau turned his head to the right and left, listening for what Henri thought he heard. "To the left," he said and the two men turned, walking down the hallway and stopping, horror and shock on their faces at what greeted their eyes, what had been making the noise they heard.

"Didier!" Henri exclaimed and broke free from Rousseau's grasp, falling to his knees beside the body of his friend that was sprawled on the floor just beyond the open attic door. "Oh Lord," Henri breathed as he took note of the strange angle at which Didier's left leg was bent. "He reached out a tentative hand to his friend, careful of Didier's right arm that was bent at nearly the same strange angle as his leg.

Rousseau got on his knees beside Henri. "Monsieur de la Censiere?" he asked. "Can you hear me?"

"Didier, please!" Henri pleaded, a cry in his voice.

Slowly the head that was face down in the expensive Persian carpet began to turn. In the lowering light of late afternoon, Henri and Rousseau could see the dried blood colored Didier's pale complexion, the bump that swelled his eye shut. "Help," Didier breathed softly.

"We are right here," Rousseau told him.

"No," Didier breathed and the eyelid on his uninjured eye began to flutter. There was a long moment of silence. "Monique," he finally said softly. "Drugged. Needs to walk. My room. Bottom drawer. Make her drink it." The effort expended was too great and Didier's eye closed.

"Didier…" Henri said tentatively and turned to Rousseau as the Inspector grabbed his arm.

"Where are the rooms?" he asked, his tone grave and insistent.

"Uh … uh…" The world began to spin around Henri and he closed his eyes for a moment. "Other end of the hall past the landing."

"Stay with him," Rousseau said as he rose to his feet and sprinted down the hallway, barely able to hear the cry that came from Henri.

"Oh God, Didier! What have we done?"

Rousseau purposefully ignored the two, injured young men at the other end of the hall as he began to burst through door after door. The third room he entered was obviously that of a young man – dinner clothes hanging neatly on a clothes rack, shoes neatly lined up in the open wardrobe. Rousseau quickly entered the room and began to open the bottom drawers of the chest and highboy, pulling out the items stacked within, not caring where they fell as he tossed them over his shoulder. Finally, in the back of the bottom drawer of the nightstand on the left side of the bed, Rousseau found that for which he was looking, a small bottle containing a milky white liquid. He wrapped his fingers about the vial and sprinted back to the hallway.

Each door he tried opened easily and finally there was no other door but the double doors at the end of the hallway. Rousseau tried the knob only to find the doors locked. A grim look crossed his face as he rammed his shoulder into the door. Once. Twice. "Damn stupid," he berated himself. Rousseau took a step back from the door and reached into his pocket, pulling out a pistol. He aimed for the lock on the door and pulled the trigger, the shot echoing around the still house. But Rousseau paid no attention to the sound as he shoved the now unlocked door open. He took one look at the bed and saw something beneath the blankets. He moved quickly across the room.

"Oh dear God," he breathed as he took note of the still woman on the bed, a gag about her mouth. Rousseau reached out a tentative hand to her neck and felt a faint pulse. "Thank God," he sighed as he removed the gag and threw back the covers and paused in shock. "What kind of animal does something like that?" he wondered and reached for ropes that bound the woman's hands and feet, lifting her to her feet and forcing the liquid in the bottle down her throat. "You must walk, Madame," Rousseau said as he lifted the nearly inert woman to her feet. "You must walk!" he urged her.

And the man who had planned the events that had brought everyone to a crossroads they could not imagine, looked at his watch and pushed his chair back from the card table. "That is it for me," Xavier laughed as he looked at the small pile of coins that rested before him. "I am afraid I have reached, passed and exceeded my limit."

"Oh surely not!" Desiree said as she batted her eyes at him. She had always found her brother's best friend to be a strikingly handsome man and time had not diminished her fascination with him.

"No," Xavier rose to his feet. "That is definitely my limit." He smiled at Desiree who was seated beside him and took her hand, raising it to his lips. "But I promise I shall return soon so that I may lose to you – again – before you must return to Italy."

"And next time you must be sure to come on a day when Monique is feeling quite herself," Charlotte said.

Xavier nodded and smiled at the quiet woman across the table. "I promise," he swore and turned to look at Christine who was seated with Val and Meg, talking quietly. "She just did not wish to expose two expectant mothers to whatever it is that is causing her to sniffle and cough."

Philippe turned from where he had been adjusting the fire that blazed in the hearth. "And we thank her for that." He smiled sadly. "Oh, but she was so missed this evening!" His look grew somber. "And as for Henri…" he muttered.

"Do not be too hard on him," Xavier said as he walked to Philippe, laying a hand on his friend's arm. "I am sure he just met up with Henri and the urge to spend a quiet hour or two at the inn was just too great for them." He grinned at Philippe. "Beside, Arthur volunteered to fetch the two of them." He winked at Philippe, lowering his voice. "I would not wish to be in their shoes this evening." Xavier winked. "I think a scolding from Arthur is far worse than being called into the headmaster's office."

"And how many times were we called into the headmaster's office." Philippe laughed and rolled his eyes. "You are correct, I would not wish to be either of them once Arthur finds them."

"Neither would I," Xavier replied. "Neither would I." He looked at the clock on the mantle and shook his head. "It is late and I really must be getting on for there are things that still must be done." He sighed heavily. "The work of an adult is never done."

"Do you think Henri and Didier will ever learn that lesson?" Philippe wondered.

"I doubt it," Xavier told him and both men laughed. "But I would like to say goodbye to Raoul before I leave. Do you think he would be awake?"

The sound of her husband's name caused Christine to turn her head. "I am sure of it," she replied, "and he did say he wished to see you before you left."

Xavier crossed to Christine's side and held out his hands, helping Christine to her feet.

"That is getting harder and harder," Christine laughed as Xavier slipped her arm through his, patting it lightly.

"But you still do it with grace," he said and turned to look at the faces in the room. "I promise to stop in for a final goodbye after I say my good-byes to Raoul and Christine." Xavier turned toward Philippe. "Do you mind?"

Philippe smiled warmly at his friend. "I could not trust them to better hands." Philippe raised an eyebrow. "But do not forget to stop and see us before you leave!"

"It is a promise," Xavier said and led Christine out of the room.

"I am so sorry that Raoul tired after the meal and felt the need to go rest," Xavier said as he helped Christine to climb the grand staircase. "Does that happen often?"

"Still more than I would like," Christine admitted and then brightened. "But he has accomplished so very much since he returned to us!"

"He has," Xavier agreed. "I was surprised to see him downstairs." He paused to correct himself. "Pleasantly surprised, of course."

"Of course," Christine laughed as the reached the top of the stairs. She stopped, causing Xavier to pause.

"What is it?" he asked, a puzzled look on his face.

"I wanted to thank you," Christine began softly. "I understand you were the one who showed Raoul the first letter I sent to Philippe. I understand you spoke with him." She shook her head, a smile on her lips. "That was the day he began to change, began to – once again – be the man I married." Her voice softened to nearly a whisper. "The man I will always love." Christine stood on her toes for a moment, placing a kiss on Xavier's cheek. "Ooh," she said as she wavered a bit and quickly put her feet back on the floor. "My center has definitely changed," she laughed. "No more ballet for me!"

"I am certain the future holds other surprises for you," Xavier said.

"I am certain, too," Christine said as she caressed her child. "I shall go and see if Raoul is awake. Do you know the small parlor near his room?"

"Of course," Xavier nodded. "Would you like me to cheer the fire there?"

"Please," Christine said. "I do not want Raoul to catch a chill."

"No, we most certainly do not want that," Xavier replied. "There are all ready enough people suffering from the chill of this early winter weather." Xavier walked Christine down the hallway.

"I did miss her tonight," Christine said. "She has been nothing but gracious toward me. I hope Monique recovers quickly."

They stopped by the open door to the small parlor. "She will soon be happy and free from any chill," Xavier said. "I shall go and cheer the fire while you see if your husband is awake." He watched as Christine nodded and walked down the hall, entered a door several doors down, before turning into the parlor.

Xavier closed the door behind him, taking note of the key in the lock. He smiled and moved to the long glass doors that opened onto the balcony. A hand reached out, testing, making sure they were not locked. He nodded and turned to the hearth, walking over to it and kneeling before it. The fire was very low and Xavier moved the fire screen out of the way, a hand reaching for the heavy rag that hung near the pokers. He wrapped the rag about his hand and reached up into the chimney, feeling for the damper and moving it till was almost closed. He took his hand back and replaced the rag. Xavier poked at the fire until it flared, burning brightly. He replaced the fire screen and walked over to sit on the sofa waiting for Christine to return. He did not have to wait long.

"Raoul just woke up," Christine said as she entered the room. "He said he will be here in a few moments." She smiled as she walked across to sit next to Xavier. "He wanted you to know that he is so glad you remembered to come and say goodbye to him."

"I will always remember to say goodbye to your husband," Xavier said as he patted Christine's hand. "He is very special to me."

Christine clasped Xavier's hand warmly. "He is very special to me, as well!" she whispered as she leaned toward Xavier, sharing a secret of which everyone was aware.

"As if there was not a single person who did not know that," Xavier said and began to cough. "What is that?"

Christine coughed, as well, and turned to the fireplace, seeing smoke beginning to filter through the fire screen. "The damper! It must be closed!" she exclaimed and turned back to Xavier. "My baby!"

Xavier quickly rose to his feet. "I will go and open the damper," he said and helped Christine to her feet. "You go and open the doors! It will not take long to air the room! If we do it quickly, it can be warm in here before Raoul arrives."

Christine nodded her assent and moved to the long windows, watching as Xavier knelt before the hearth. She turned back to the windows, opening them and stepping onto the balcony, breathing in huge gulps of clean, crisp air. She smiled as she felt hands on her shoulders.

"You were correct," Xavier told her, "the damper was nearly closed. You should tell Philippe to remind his staff of such things."

"I shall," Christine replied, wrapping her arms about her in an attempt to ward off the cold night air.

"You should also be careful of second floor balconies," Xavier whispered in Christine's ear as he leaned over her shoulder. "As you so recently said, your center of balance is off. It would be very easy for you to stumble and fall over the balustrade."

Christine turned around, a puzzled look on her face. "Why would I go near the balu…" The word froze on Christine's lips, the puzzled look on her face turning to one of shocked horror as she noted the jewelry visible beneath the now open collar of Xavier's shirt. "Oh my God," she breathed. "That cross. I would know it anywhere. That is Raoul's cross!" Christine raised large eyes to the man before her. "That is Raoul's cross!" Christine's heart chilled at the look on Xavier's face. "It was you! You were the one…"

"The one what, my dear?" Xavier interrupted in a strange tone of voice, his gaze distant, focused on the balustrade and not Christine.

The instinct to protect her child took over and Christine pushed Xavier out of the way and began to move quickly toward the closed door of the parlor.

"Not so fast," Xavier said as he grabbed Christine from behind just before she reached the door.

"Hel…" Christine started to scream and her words cut off by a hand that was quickly slapped over her mouth.

"We do not want that," Xavier hissed in her ear. "We have to wait for someone else before anyone starts calling for help." He turned Christine around, pinning her against the wall behind the door, his hand once again covering her mouth. "Your husband has learned that calling for help does no good," Xavier whispered as he leaned toward Christine who was squirming in his grasp. "My, my, my," Xavier said with a wicked smile, "you are a little fighter, are you not."

The sound of the doorknob being turned drew both Christine's and Xavier's attention from their struggle.

"Raoul," Christine tried to call out from beneath the hand pressing over her lip as she increased her struggles.

"I said no!" Xavier whispered angrily as he pressed up against Christine, fingers from the hand over her mouth reaching up to pinch her nose closed, his other arm going over her throat, effectively pinning her against the wall and stopping her struggles.

Christine watched the world around her begin to go black, her child kicking furiously, tears slipping from her eyes at the sound of a beloved voice.

"Christine," Raoul wondered as he entered the room, "are you here?"


	80. Chapter 80

**Chapter Summary:** Tallis and Serge arrive at the opera house to begin their search. They find the shattered mirror in a familiar dressing room and venture into the depths of the opera house. Xavier assaults both Raoul and Christine as he prepares to commit a last, desperate act. Arthur finds the horrors Xavier left behind him at Cote de Vallee and races back to Chagny with the news.

CHAPTER EIGHTY

The four black horses stood in the shadows of the side street, shadows within shadows, the only sign of their presence the occasional puff of misty cloud floating into the still night from an impatient snort. Behind these silent sentinels sat a man dressed in clothing that was as equally as dark as the coats of the horses. He sat atop a black coach; reins held lightly in his hands all the control that was needed to keep well-trained, powerful horses in place. The man was as still and as silent as those horses as he waited for the two people in the carriage to exit and go about their business in the deepening darkness of a winter evening. He had known the man inside the carriage since he had been a small lad clinging to the hand of his elegant mother during family visits to Paris and he was not acquainted with the young woman. Yet what went on between those who employed him and whatever girl could be found on any given Paris street corner was none of his business. If the young man wanted to show this girl the ruined opera house – and perhaps a little more – was none of his business. He was treated well and paid even better. The coach driver saw nothing, knew nothing and said nothing; although, he did feel the coach on its springs as first one person and then another exited. The driver turned slightly to look down into a young man's face.

"Two hours," Serge told the man atop the coach. "I doubt there will be any questions as to why you are waiting on such a street but I trust you to know what to say."

"Aye," the driver nodded, his eyes quickly flicking to the woman completely covered by a dark cloak. He wondered briefly what was under that cloak, what she looked like. He had seen the women who he had driven to private assignations and each of them had been exquisitely beautiful. Yet there was something about the way this woman carried herself that led the driver to think this was no mere assignation. "Two hours," he repeated and lightly tapped the reins on the backs of his team. The coach began to move off and the driver hoped the young man knew what it was he was getting himself into.

Serge knew perfectly well what he was doing' from the time he was old enough to remember, he had never made a decision without considering all the consequences. Serge was quiet, polite, a gentleman and a thinker – he was a product of his upbringing. Now, he turned to the woman who waited hidden in the long, reaching shadows of the burned-out opera house and, for a moment, it seemed to Serge that the ghosts of the opera house were reaching for them. And he thought again; perhaps, it was just one ghost of the opera house. "Are you ready, Tallis?" Serge asked as he walked to her side.

The head beneath the hooded cloak nodded. "Yes," came the whispered reply.

"No matter what we may find?" Serge needed to be sure. He had read the stories in the newspapers, heard the gossip from his own family and was aware of just what it was that might meet them. Serge knew that there was the possibility that neither of them would walk out once they had entered the opera house. And should they walk out, he knew that only the two them may walk out; perhaps, only Tallis would be leaving. He just needed to be sure before they placed their lives into God's hands.

"No matter the cost," Tallis told him, a hand slipping from beneath her cloak to rest lightly on Serge's arm. "And if there is a cost to pay this evening, I promise that you shall not pay it." Her thoughts had been the same as his. "You will walk out of this opera house tonight, even if I do not."

"We shall both leave," Serge said as he placed a gloved hand over the one resting upon his arm. He looked up at the moonless sky slowly beginning to twinkle with stars and turned back to Tallis. "Let us begin, shall we?" Serge asked as he guided Tallis through the entrance to had once been the stable area for the opera's animals and paused as he looked around.

"To the right," Tallis said, as she pictured Antoinette's map in her mind.

Serge and Tallis walked to the right, carefully sidestepping the debris that was still scattered about the courtyard. Antoinette had told them to use first try the stable courtyard entrance that led to the backstage because Monsieur Garnier had erected scaffolding all about the rest of the opera house as he continued his renovation and restoration of what had been destroyed. The stable yard would be the last thing to be restored and Antoinette reminded the two young people proceeding on such a dangerous mission that the yard was also being used as a dumping ground. She had also warned that that should they gain entrance through the stable yard doors that more than likely there would be scaffolding erected in the interior of the opera house, as well. Antoinette had urged caution at every turn and Serge and Tallis were taking her words to heart for to do otherwise would surely stop their quest before it had begun.

Man and woman stopped before the door that Antoinette had pointed out, Serge shaking his head, a hand reaching out to tug on the planks nailed over the entrance. "I think I can loosen these enough to pull them out," Serge said as he turned toward Tallis. "Please stand back."

Tallis took two steps backward and waited, watching.

Serge drew a deep breath and placed his gloved hands upon the first plank, setting feet firmly in place. He tugged and twisted and slowly but surely the board began to pull away from the fire and water damaged wood into which it had been nailed. When it came off in his hands, Serge staggered backward for an instant, feeling a small hand reaching for his back to steady him. Serge turned around to smile his thanks at Tallis and returned to the door and the next board. Each of the four boards that came away caused Serge to stagger backward a few steps and each time he found that same small hand there to steady his back and prevent him from falling. As he placed a hand on the knob, leaning into the door, preparing to force it open, Serge thought what a loss it would be were they to fail in their quest this night and Tallis should keep her promise to spend her life in silent contemplation. He knew that Tallis had too much to quietly offer the world for such an event to come to pass, to even be contemplated!

"Shall we?" Serge asked with a slight grin as he turned toward Tallis for a brief moment. He could barely see her nod. Serge turned back to the door, turning the rusty knob as he leaned all his weight against the wood.

And nearly fell into the opera house as the door gave way.

"Are you all right?" Tallis worried as she reached for Serge.

"Quite fine," Serge said as he straightened his posture and brushed off the small debris that had settled upon his clothes. "I think that is something," he said as nodded at the now open door, "of which we shall have to be quite careful as we proceed, yes?" He took Tallis' hand.

"Yes," Tallis replied as she allowed Serge to lead her into the inner darkness of the opera house. She waited as Serge closed the door behind them, careful to not close it all the way, leaving an escape for either one or both of them.

"Follow carefully in my footsteps," Serge told Tallis as they began to walk into the opera house. Serge watched his feet as he placed one foot in front of the other, always testing the floorboards. He would raise his head and look around after each footfall, searching for debris that may come tumbling down from above, stopping their search before it had even begun. Serge finally stopped in a large open area, turning his head to look to the left. "That must be the stage," he said.

Tallis followed his gaze. In the darkness she could see a huge shadowy object lying in the floor, beams littering the floor of what must at one time have been the stage. Tallis thought she saw broken chairs beyond the edge of the stage but she could only spare a moment for a glance, other matters – weightier, life-changing matters – were demanding her attention. Tallis slipped the edges of her cloak over her shoulders, revealing the lantern she had concealed beneath.

"Hold this," Serge said as he handed her the map he had withdrawn from beneath his own coat, taking the lantern and lighting it. The glowing light from the lantern formed a circle about Tallis and Serge, holding back the all-encompassing dark of the opera house even as Saint Michael's flaming sword held back the darkness of Hell. "We go to the right, yes?" Serge asked as Tallis studied the map she held in her hands.

Tallis nodded and once again took Serge's hand, walking with him down a long corridor, the lantern light granting them a clearer, safer pathway. Tallis slowly counted the doors on the right side of the corridor even as she studiously followed in Serge's footsteps. "This one," she said softly as she reached 'ten', pausing in her walk and forcing Serge to do the same.

"Let me," Serge told her as he looked at the door and looked down, knowing that a few stairs had once stood before the entry that was raised above the floor far beyond any normal door. He handed Tallis the lantern and reached up, turning the knob and finding this door relatively easy to open. Serge reached down with his hands, feeling about the floor just beyond the threshold, before grabbing onto either side of the doorway and lifting himself up. He turned back to Tallis. "Hand me the map and lantern please," he said and placed them in the room before reaching down and lifting Tallis up.

"So this was it," Tallis said softly as she gazed about the ruins of the dressing room. A frown crossed her face. "Typical of him to watch from the shadows."

"Have a care, Fraulein," Serge warned her, "for we do not know what ears may lurk in those shadows."

"I do not care," Tallis said rather angrily and sighed. "No, I do care." Her voice lowered to a barely breathed whisper. "Damn him anyway; I do care."

Serge nodded at a large frame that once held a long since gone mirror only sharp shards of silvery glass remaining in the charred wood. "Is that it?" he asked

"Yes," Tallis told him. "We must go through there and into whatever lies beyond if I am ever to find Erik."

"Through the Gates of Hell, then." Serge took her hand and could feel it trembling. "Do not worry, Tallis; I shall be your Virgil."

Tallis turned a questioning gaze toward Serge. "Pardon?"

"He was a guide through the depths of Hell," Serge told her, lightly squeezing her hand. "And you shall be Beatrice, the Light of Heaven that guides man to eternal salvation."

"I would be happy just to lead one man back into my arms," Tallis sighed before following Serge and disappearing into the never ending corridors that stretched beyond the mirror Erik had once used to watch Christine.

And –at that very moment – the one-time object of Erik's passion and desire was facing her own blackness, feeling Death closing in about her as her lungs screamed for air that could not come through a nose and mouth closed by the hand of a madman. Still, through the buzzing in her ears, Christine could hear her husband's voice calling out for her from a great distance. She longed to warn him away, to scream for him to go for help, to run, to flee but no sounds would come, only the silent tears that slipped from her cheeks.

"Christine?" Raoul asked again as he stood in the open doorway, holding onto the handle to steady himself. He looked at the open doors that led to the balcony. "Why?" he wondered as he stared at them, his gaze turning to the fireplace. "Damn old dampers," Raoul muttered as he caught the stinging odor of smoke. "I guess she forgot to close the doors." Raoul walked into the room, toward the open doors, beyond the edge of the door that opened onto the hallway.

"It was not your wife who forgot to close the doors," a voice said from behind him.

Raoul turned around. "Xavier?" Raoul asked, the puzzled look on his face turning into one of shock as he heard the loud gasp for air from his wife as Christine slid down the wall, both hands reaching for their child. The shock quickly turned to anger as he turned to the man standing before Christine. "What on earth have you done to my wife…" he began angrily and paused, his eyes going wide as he noticed the jewelry about Xavier's neck. "My cross," Raoul breathed. "That was taken from me the day that…" His eyes closed and slowly reopened, a light of a memory beginning to glow in them. "It was you. That day they drugged me. I thought it was a dream. I thought …" Raoul would never have a chance to finish that sentence.

Xavier's hands shot out, grabbing Raoul by the shoulders, whirling him around and thrusting him, face first, into the bricks surrounding the fireplace. Raoul, still recovering from his ordeal and slowly regaining his strength was unable to resist the assault under which he suddenly found himself. He hit the wall of bricks hard and fell to the floor, dots swirling before his eyes, a trickle of blood beginning to flow from a laceration just beneath his cheekbone. Raoul felt strong hands grip him by the shoulders. "You were never meant to return," Xavier hissed in his ear. "There shall be no escape for you or your family this time," Xavier finished before flinging Raoul across the room.

Raoul's knees collided with a heavy wooden table and he sagged to the floor, unable to speak through the pain being telegraphed from every portion of his body. Yet he could hear the deep, desperate gasps for air that were coming from behind him. The thought that Christine and his child were in danger stirred something in Raoul that he had thought he lost and, ignoring the pain and his blurred vision, Raoul used the table to steady himself as he rose to his feet. "Christine!" he screamed. "Run!"

At Raoul's desperate plea to his wife, Xavier crossed the room and quietly closed the door, turning the key in the lock and moving back across the room to throw the key through the open doors and over the balcony into the night beyond. Xavier spared a brief glance at Christine who was on her hands and knees, still gasping for air as she struggled to rise; he could manage her. There would be no way she would be able to resist what he would do to her and he turned his attention back to Raoul. "You can still get to your feet, I see," Xavier snarled at Raoul as he grabbed Raoul by his shirt, lifting him from the floor. "I do not know who is the better fighter," Xavier smiled coldly at Raoul, "you or your charming wife!"

Raoul suddenly found himself flying through the air, over the table he had previously landed against, to fall flat on his back near the open doors to the balcony, his breath coming out of him in a large whoosh. The thought of his wife and child in peril, needing his love and protection, was the motivation that drove Raoul to roll to his side, struggling to get to his hands and knees, struggling to rise to his feet. He needed to place himself between Christine and the unknown stranger locked in the room with them. He needed to keep Xavier's attention on him, no matter the consequences to himself. Raoul knew he would gladly give his own life to save the lives of his family; he would never get to his feet.

"Stay down, damn you!" Xavier ordered as he slammed booted foot down on Raoul's back causing Raoul to fall back to the carpeted floor. He was leaning over, his hands reaching for Raoul's neck when suddenly Xavier found himself under attack.

"Get off of him!" Christine shouted as she threw herself at Xavier's back, her hands reaching for his face, nails clawing at skin, desperately reaching to claw at eyes. "Leave him alone!"

The hormonally driven instincts of a woman to protect husband and child were for a moment no match for Xavier. He felt the skin on his face raked, welts rising, as fingernails scraped down his flesh over and over. He felt knees pounding at his hips, feet kicking at his legs and all the time the screaming in his ear.

"Raoul! Get up! God, get up!" Christine pleaded as once again she fought in her own way to draw a madman's attention from the man she loved. "Raoul, please! Get out of here!"

Xavier finally regained his composure and footing and whirled on Christine, backhanding her across the face, causing her to stumble toward a nearby sofa. Christine put out her hands as she fell, protecting her frantic child from the blow that would surely follow. "You little bitch!" Xavier hissed as he grabbed Christine about the throat with both hands, pulling her to her feet before she could finish falling.

"Christine," Raoul coughed, as he struggled to his hands and feet. He reached out for a nearby chair, using it to steady himself as he rose to his knees. "Oh God, Christine!" Raoul breathed at the sight that met his eyes.

Xavier had one arm about Christine's neck, the other wrapped about her body just at the top of her swollen belly, Christine's hands pulling at the arm around her neck. Xavier was dragging a struggling Christine toward the open doors and the balcony beyond, stopping each time Christine would kick out at him to tighten the grip about her neck, lifting her off her feet and cutting off her air supply. As Christine would grow quiet again, Xavier would continue to drag her closer and closer to the balustrade and the open air over its edge.

"Let her go!" Raoul pleaded as he began to rise to his feet. "Do what you want with me but … please! … I beg of you! … let them go!" His eyes turned to his wife who was once again gasping for air. "Christine …"

"Stay on your knees!" Xavier warned Raoul, as he tightened his grip about Christine's throat. "I have all ready done what I want with you!" His other hand reached down to run slowly over the swell beneath Christine's gown. "Now I shall do what I want to your family!"

"Raoul," Christine squeaked as she sought and found his face through the tears that blurred her eyes. "I love you." She gasped for a breath. "We love you."

"I love you," Raoul replied, unable to keep the tears from his voice. "I love you both."

"How touching," Xavier said, as he turned toward the balustrade, Christine still in his arms. He gave one last look back at Raoul who was rising to his feet, his hands outstretched. "Say goodbye to your family," Xavier said as he leaned Christine over the edge of the balustrade.

"No!" Raoul screamed.

The word "no" was also being screamed but it was being screamed silently in the mind of the man who raced his horse through the darkness. "No. No. No." echoed with each thudding hoof beat, each pounding heartbeat. His mind tried to wrap itself about what had recently been seen, been discovered and he found he could not do it. He could not fathom such deception for it was not in his makeup. Yes, he had spent a lifetime learning to say the words that needed to be heard but those who always heard those words knew he was just saying what they wanted him to say. But a lifetime of outright lies, of well-hidden cruelty, of a madness that was so carefully hidden beneath the veneer of friendship was something his mind just could not understand. Perhaps, he was too honest, perhaps he was not jaded enough, perhaps he had not lost his belief in the inherent goodness of mankind; yet, Arthur was no longer sure. After what he had seen upon arriving at Cote de Vallee, Arthur was no longer sure of much…

_Arthur's suspicions were first aroused when Monique had not arrived with Xavier. Yet it had seemed a plausible explanation that she would not wish to expose two expectant mothers to any germs she may have been carrying. Arthur had an uneasy feeling but accepted the gracious excuse that Xavier produced and had kept a wary eye on Xavier throughout the afternoon tea. His uneasy feeling had begun to grow with each tick of the clock toward twilight for Henri had promised to return before the shadows lengthened. Arthur had finally gone to Philippe and willingly lied for the first time in his life._

"_I think Henri may have gotten distracted from the errand I sent him on," Arthur had whispered to Philippe as he had taken his friend and employer to a quiet corner of the noisy, family-filled room. "I think I should go after him."_

_There was an angry glint in Philippe's eyes. "I think you should," he replied. "And when you find him, drag him back here and put him in my study." Philippe frowned. "Lock him in there if you must! I do not want him wriggling his way out of my anger this time!"_

_Arthur merely nodded, knowing that should Henri and Didier be correct, Philippe's anger and disappointment would go far beyond the reaction to any mere family betrayal._

"_Where is Arthur going?" Arthur heard Xavier say as he left the room._

"_Chasing after Henri," Philippe told him. "And with any luck, he will be with Didier and we can lecture them both at the same time!"_

"_With any luck," Xavier replied as Arthur shut the door behind himself, the older man's words sending a chill up his spine._

_The chill had not lessened as Arthur had approached Cote de Vallee, going down the front walk and finding the house completely dark, the front door wide open. Arthur had had the good sense to slip a loaded pistol into his jacket pocket and he pulled it out as he crossed the threshold, shutting the door behind him. He stood quietly at the bottom of the familiar staircase, listening to the silence, desperate to hear a sound, any sound. And finally it came to him and the voice sounded familiar. Arthur took the stairs two at a time, pausing momentarily at the top of the staircase, listening for the sound and turning left. He stopped in his tracks at what he saw._

_Henri was seated on the carpet, his clothes clinging to him as if he had put them on directly from the wash. Didier lay on the floor before him, his head cradled in Henri's lap. It was Henri's voice that Arthur had heard._

"_Do not die on me, Didier," Henri kept repeating. "Do not die on me!"_

_Arthur moved quickly to Henri's side, kneeling beside him. He reached out a hand to get Henri's attention and drew it back, stunned at how cold Henri was, how hard his body was shivering. "Henri?" Arthur tried. "What has happened?" Arthur was stunned at the blue tinge on Henri's face._

"_Xavier pushed Didier down the attic stairs," Henri sobbed and turned his attention back to his friend, lightly running a hand over Didier's coppery hair. "When Didier regained consciousness, he tried to get to Monique because he knew Xavier would hurt her, as well." Henri shook his head. "But he could get no farther then this." Henri leaned forward slightly. "Do not die on me, Didier; please, do not die on me!"_

_Arthur grabbed Henri's shoulder. "I will send help!" he promised. "But where is Monique?" Arthur knew it would further destroy Philippe if anything happened to Monique. "You must tell me where she is!"_

"_At the other end of the hall," Henri whispered and sniffled back his tears. "Inspector Rousseau is with her."_

"_I will send help!" Arthur repeated emphatically and rose to his feet, sprinting down the hall. "Inspector!" he called out._

"_In here!" came the reply._

_Arthur burst through the broken doors at the end of the hall. "Oh my God," he breathed as he watched Inspector Rousseau walking Monique back and forth across the bedroom floor. "Is she all right?" Arthur wondered, taking note of the fact that Monique's feet dragged along the floor, her head lolling in every direction possible._

"_I believe she will be," Inspector Rousseau told him. "I think we got to her in time but you must go for help! You must get back to Chagny first, though. I am certain that the Vicomte is in deadly peril this evening!" The inspector continued to give orders and Arthur knew how to follow orders. "Send someone from Chagny to the police station and send someone for a doctor! I will stay here and do what I can. Go!"_

"_Yes," was the only word Arthur replied as he ran from the room, to fly down the stairs and back onto his horse, his disbelief and fear spurring him onward, down familiar roads and back to Chagny._

As Arthur ran up the front stairs to Chagny, he could only hope he would be in time. He burst through the front door, leaving it open before him. He ignored the stunned valet as he ran down the hall, opening the doors to the huge parlor where Arthur knew the family would be found. All eyes turned to him as he clung to the door, desperately trying to get his breath.

"Arthur?" Philippe asked.

"Where is Xavier?" Arthur asked and coughed.

"Upstairs with Raoul and Christine," Philippe replied, the confused look on his face turning to one of worry. "Has something happened to Didier or Monique?" The worry deepened into fear. "Has something happened to Henri?"

"We have to get up there!" Arthur panted.

"We will," Philippe said as he began to cross the room to his friend's side. "Once you catch your breath, we will go upstairs."

Arthur let go of the door and grabbed Philippe's lapels. "You. Do. Not. Understand!" he spat and shook Philippe. "Xavier tried to kill Didier and Monique and Henri, Inspector Rousseau is with them now. We need to send help!"

"You do not know what you are saying!" Philippe interrupted, suddenly frightened by how still Arthur had become.

"Philippe, I do know what I am saying," Arthur said in a deadly earnest tone. "Xavier was the one who plotted everything! He was the one who was behind what happened to Raoul!"

There was a potent silence in the room as Arthur's words rang in the ears of all those present.

Philippe went white as a sheet. "And now he is up there – alone – with Raoul and Christine," he breathed.


	81. Chapter 81

**Chapter Summary:** "The Phantom of The Opera" is – in the end – a story about love and what desperate actions we will take and to what crazed depths we will sink in our search for that elusive emotion. This story has echoed those sentiments for all the characters involved. And now we will discover just how far into those crazed depths our characters have both traveled and sunk.

CHAPTER EIGHTY ONE

"Is there not end to these corridors?" Serge wondered softly as he looked about at the interminable darkness before turning his eyes back to the map he held. "Can you hold the lantern a bit higher?" he asked.

Tallis raised the lantern she held, the circle of light about her and her companion spreading outward, chasing away a little bit more of the darkness yet still unable to do nothing more than keep it at bay. Tallis shivered as she felt the weight of the world close in on her and she turned her eyes from the surrounding darkness to look at the map that Serge was studying. It was far safer to contemplate what may lay before her, then to think upon what lay behind or what lay around. Yet Tallis felt her eyes reluctantly and forcefully drawn from the map, from the circle of light surrounding her and Serge to look at the darkness beyond. She felt the need to look into that darkness, to study it, to understand it, to try and discover what part of the man she loved lurked in those deep, all-encompassing shadows.

In the shadows that hovered so close and in the dim recesses of the tunnels that seemed so far beyond reach, Tallis could make out shapes. She was not quite sure of what she saw but they appeared to be faces and with each turn of her head, each blink of her eyes, they seemed to move. She could have sworn they moved and she could have sworn each one was a reflection of Erik. There was Erik, shock on his face at her words. Tallis turned her head and there was Erik, angry and as furious as any wild beast. Turn around again and there was Erik, quiet, withdrawn and at his most deadly. One more turn and there was Erik, smiling, safe and with the love he kept hidden deep within his soul lighting his face. Tallis kept turning her head, looking at each face, watching them move, as they slowly became one face, one man accusing her of sending him back to the endless void of eternal night. Tallis felt dizzy and she closed her eyes, reaching out for Serge to steady her suddenly shaking body.

"Fraulein?" Serge asked and received no answer. "Tallis?" he tried again. There was still no answer and Serge's voice took on a tone of worry. "What is it? What is wrong? What has happened?"

"Can you not feel it?" Tallis whispered, her eyes still closed, her fingers closing tightly about Serge's arm.

"Feel what?" Serge wondered.

"The world above," Tallis continued to whisper. "Can you not feel it closing in upon us? Can you not feel the weight pressing down upon your heart, your soul?" Tallis finally lifted her head to look about her, eyes focusing on the shapeless movements in the darkness. "Can you not see the eyes that stare from the darkness, demanding, accusing?" Tallis turned to look at Serge. "Tell me you feel it!" she begged. "Please tell me you feel it!"

Serge was silent for a moment as he studied the woman before him, the desperation in her face. "I will admit that there is an oppressive atmosphere," he said and shook his head, "but I feel nothing else." A soft, sad smile crossed his face as he patted the hand that clung to his arm. "Perhaps what you are feeling are your own anxieties and regrets," he said gently.

A single tear slipped down Tallis' cheek as she nodded her head. "Yes," she breathed. "I know that is what it is. I just did not wish to admit it – least of all to myself." She looked at the darkness again. "How did my Erik ever survive this?"

Serge smiled to himself as Tallis referred to Erik as "my Erik" and then grew more serious. "He did not," Serge reminded her as tenderly as he could. "He is a part of this darkness and it is a part of him. I do not think you will ever be able to separate him from it, even if we should succeed and pull him from this place tonight. He shall always be the ghost that haunts the shadows, the beast waiting to strike when a back is turned. Your Erik," Serge emphasized the words, "will always be The Phantom. Are you ready for that?"

Tallis drew a deep breath and squared her shoulders. "Yes," she said simply and returned her eyes to the map that now dangled from one of Serge's hands. "Where do we go now.

"_Well done, Fraulein_," Serge thought and then out loud. "We follow this corridor and according to the map it should lead us to a set of stairs. Those stairs will then lead us to a long ramp and to the water pathways that appear to flow all about once we reach greater depths." He shook his head. "I do not know how we shall traverse those watery paths but we shall think upon that, should we get that far." Serge rolled up the map he held. "The lantern, please," he asked Tallis and took it from her hand, slipping the hand that held the lantern into his free one. "Remember to follow my steps exactly," Serge reminded her as they started off down the long corridor, guided only the memory of a map and protected only by the light of a lantern.

The corridor was wet and Tallis could feel the hem of both her cloak and her dress beginning to be weighed down by the dampness; yet, it weighed far less then the heaviness of guilt and loss that pulled at her heart. Tallis shook her head as she attempted to bury those emotions for the moment. She needed to concentrate on the goal before her and instead she focused outward, on the world around her, as she continued to try to understand that which had formed an abused, unloved child into the beast who guarded the man she loved.

"Have a care," Serge warned as he stopped and turned to look at his companion. "We have reached the stairs." He held the lantern up, moving it forward as he straightened his arm. Serge shook his head. "They are moldy from the damp and from neglect. We should hug the wall as we proceed down them and we should take one stair at a time." He turned to Tallis. "Yes?"

"Yes," Tallis agreed as she began the slow process of following Serge down the long winding stone stairs.

"I am surprised the direct pathway is still clear," Serge said softly as they rounded another corner.

"I am not," Tallis whispered in reply. Somehow she knew that Erik with all the pride that lay within him and which he refused to willingly acknowledge would never allow anything to interfere with that which he had designed. A half-smile crossed her face at the thought of Erik returning to his lair through these very corridors, down these very stairs, picking up debris as he set his world to rights. Yet the smell of mold and stagnant water that permeated through her nostrils with each breath told Tallis something she was not quite ready to face – that Erik had not been this way, that he had used another way to return to his lair. A chill ran up her spine at the thought that, perhaps, Erik had fallen victim to one of his own traps and Tallis quickly pushed that thought from her mind. There was simply no room in her heart and soul for fear or doubt. Tallis was drawn from her reverie by Serge's command.

"Take this," he said as he handed her the lantern. Once again they had stopped, a long ramp at their feet and beyond the ramp something glistening and moving in the darkness. Serge turned to Tallis, a grim look on his face. "I like this not," he said simply. "I do not believe there is going to be safe way down this ramp; it is covered with too great a layer of slime and mold. It is far too slippery for us to traverse."

Tallis looked nervously back over her shoulder. "But we do not know what traps may await us if we retrace our steps and try another passage." She turned back to Serge, a cry in her voice. "And it would waste far too much time!"

"Hold the lantern up," Serge said and looked around the circle of light. "A handrail!" he exclaimed, unable to keep the slight hint of triumph from his voice. "There is a handrail." He reached out to pull at the handrail that was attached to the damp stone wall. "It seems to be holding." Serge turned back to Tallis. "I am going to go down first," he told her. "In that way, if anything should happen, it will only be one of us who suffers the fall that may result."

"May God go with you," Tallis said as she lightly touched his arm.

"My Beatrice," Serge replied with a slight smile before placing both hands on the rail and beginning to slowly walk down the slippery ramp. He would move both hands, feeling for the sturdiness of the railing before taking a step. Serge repeated the action with each footfall that moved him further and further down the ramp. He did not realize that Tallis was holding her breath as she watched him, her heart beating in nervous unison with his own. Serge was near the bottom of the ramp, beginning to breath in relief when the rail gave way beneath his hands and he fell to the slimy stones beneath, sliding the rest of the way down the ramp.

"Serge!" Tallis screamed, raising the lantern as high as her arm would allow. "Dear God! Serge! Answer me!" Tallis waited for what seemed like forever for a friendly voice to respond to her cries; yet, in reality, it was barely a minute.

"I am fine," Serge called back. "I believe I shall be bruised in the morning but my pride is hurt worse than anything else."

"Thank God," Tallis breathed. "How do I get down?" she wondered.

"Hold to the handrail and step carefully," Serge told her. "You should be able to see my footprints. I want you to place your own feet in them. When you see the jagged edge of the rail, stop and I shall get you the rest of the way."

"As you say," Tallis answered him and drew a deep breath. She clutched the lantern more tightly in her hand and with her free one, reached out to grip the now damaged handrail. Tallis moved very slowly down the slippery ramp, placing her feet into the footprints Serge left behind before raising her eyes and carefully sliding her hand along the handrail. It took nearly five minutes for Tallis to traverse the small ramp that would – under what passed for normal conditions beneath the opera house – barely take a minute to walk down. Finally she saw the jagged, broken edge of the rail before her and stopped. A sigh of relief passed her lips as Tallis saw Serge reaching for her.

"Hand me the lamp," Serge told her as he clung to the other end of the broken rail, "and then place both hands onto the rail."

Tallis handed over the lamp and quickly grabbed onto her end of the broken rail. She could feel her frightened heart beating nearly out of her chest, the pounding of the pulse in her temple seeming to shake her entire head.

"You must give me your hand," Serge said and Tallis turned to look at him.

"I cannot," she whispered back, her knuckles turning white as they clung to the only lifeline that was preventing her from plunging into the depths of Hell. "I am afraid."

"You must," Serge encouraged her. "I shall do my best to not let you fall." He smiled in the dark and hoped Tallis could see it. "But if you do fall, we shall fall together and I will be a gentleman and allow my body to cushion your fall."

Tallis could barely see the hand that reached for her. "Promise?" she asked nervously.

"I swear on my eternal soul," Serge answered. "Take my hand!"

Tallis moved carefully down the remaining inches until she was at the very end of the broken rail. She drew a deep breath and removed one hand from her lifeline, reaching it out into the darkness. Tallis did not even realize she was not breathing until a strong hand reached from that darkness to clasp her hand. She let out a long breath.

"Now the other," Serge told her.

Tallis let go and reached out, trusting the shadowy shape in the darkness. She felt her other hand grabbed by a stronger one and felt herself safe until her feet began to slide out from under her. Tallis let out a slight screech as she began to tumble forward only to find herself suddenly caught by two very strong arms. "Oh God," she breathed as she clung to Serge, allowing him to take her arms from about his neck, placing her hands on what remained of the handrail, guiding her down to stand on flat rock.

"Now what do we do?" Serge wondered as he stared at the watery paths before him. He could hear Tallis drawing in huge gulps of stagnant air as she steadied her nerves. "Your friend, Madame Giry, said the water was not deep; we could always try wading our way through." He thought of the map at his feet, next to the lantern. "Yet we know there are traps waiting as we draw closer to where this Phantom used to live."

"Erik," Tallis corrected him gently as she untied her cloak, allowing it to fall to the ground at her feet. "Whatever else he may or may not be, his name is still Erik." She gathered her skirts in her hands, lifting them up and tucking them into the belt about her waist. Then Tallis leaned down and picked up the map, slipping it into that same belt. She drew and deep breath and stepped into the water, shuddering at the feel of the foul water about her stocking legs. Tallis turned back to Serge. "Are you coming?" she asked.

Serge grinned and sighed, allowing his own coat to drop next to Tallis' cloak before stepping into the water beside Tallis. He turned for a brief moment to pick up the lantern and turned back to Tallis. "Once again, I ask that you follow in my steps. And we must exert the utmost care as we approach his lair … home …" Serge shook his head, "the place where he lived. I am going to insist that we stop before we enter, to examine the map and make sure we are not stepping into any danger we are not expecting."

"Such a thing is not possible with Erik," Tallis muttered beneath her breath as she took Serge's hand and they began to slosh through the watery paths.

The light from the lantern that Serge held high before him and Tallis seemed to grow brighter, the further into the watery paths the two of them walked. It's light reflected off the water dripping down the walls, turning the drops into brightly glistening teardrops. The golden light also glowed off the water that swirled and lapped about their legs, unable to penetrate the dark depths, but sending glowing fingers rippling off into the surrounding blackness. Serge and Tallis continued to trail behind the light before them, each of them carefully placing feet, testing for any change in depth, any downward ramp. Yet, even as they approached Erik's lair, the water slowly began to rise, first lapping at their feet and then climbing over their ankles. When their ankles were not enough, the water begin to claim calves as both Serge and Tallis began to fear just how deep the water would become the longer they walked. Finally, as the water rose over their knees and their teeth began to chatter from the cool damp surrounding them and the fear surrounding their hearts, Serge stopped and Tallis nearly bumped into him.

"Shhh," Serge hissed at Tallis as he turned, a finger to his lips. He pointed over his shoulder at the open gate that was barely visible in the darkness. "I believe we have reached our destination," he whispered.

Tallis followed his gaze, drawing in a deep breath as she realized Serge was correct. They had finally reached Erik's lair and her heart dropped with her breast for there was no sign of life beyond that barely visible gate. No lights flickered, no shapes moved in the shadowy darkness, no voice called out to them in resignation or pain or anger.

"We must be sure of where the traps await us," Serge said and stopped, reaching out for the woman who was suddenly running past him. "Fraulein!" he called, unable to reach her arm, to draw her back to stop her. "Tallis!" he screamed.

Yet Tallis did not hear him. She had finally reached that for which she had been searching for all night and desiring longer than that. "Erik!" she called out. "It is Tallis! I have come back!" Tallis could feel the water sloshing about her legs, splashing over her clothes, slowing her down but it could not stop her. "Erik!" she called out again as she passed beneath the open gate, none of Erik's traps having been able to lay claim to her. Tallis paused for a moment to catch her breath, to scan the open cavern before her. And her heart stopped beating as she noticed a form slumped at the very edge of the water across from her. "Erik!" Tallis screamed.

"Christine!" Raoul was screaming at the same time, watching as his wife was bent backwards over the second floor balustrade, her feet coming off the flagstones, her long hair waving in the cold air of a November evening. He stumbled forward, the renewed pain in his legs causing him to fall to his knees. "Stop!" he pleaded with Xavier. A loud sound caused Raoul to cry out in anguish, his hands going over his eyes, unable to look at the sight where his wife and child had just been, unable to look at a world without them. Raoul could not believe that words spoken to torment him had suddenly – in the space of single heartbeat – passed into truth. He would never again see his wife; he would never know his child.

"Xavier!" a familiar voice called out in anger. "Stop!"

"Philippe!" Xavier snarled.

"Raoul!" Christine squeaked.

Raoul felt his hands drop to his side, his eyes opening as his knees gave out and he sat back upon his ankles. Christine – his Christine – was still alive! She was still caught up in Xavier's arms and she was still next to the balustrade but she was alive! Raoul did not even know if he breathed as he looked at the pleading eyes staring back at him. "Christine," Raoul breathed, his hands going out to her.

Christine yelped as she was twisted again toward the edge of the balustrade.

"One move," Xavier addressed Raoul, "and we both go over!"

"Let her go!" Philippe said as he took a single step into the parlor. "If you have a quarrel with me, then deal with me but let Raoul and Christine go." He stared at the two young people; their faces ashen, their eyes locked and Philippe could feel his anger grow. He turned his attention back to Xavier. "They have done nothing to you!"

"They have ruined everything!" Xavier shouted as he tightened his hold on Christine. "You and your damned family have ruined everything!"

Philippe could feel Arthur behind him and carefully moved his hand to stay Arthur's. Philippe knew that Arthur was dying to take a shot at Xavier with the pistol he held in his hand, the one they had used to shoot open the locked door. Yet as Philippe heard his brother's pregnant wife gasping for air, he knew they dared not take a chance with her life or the life that she carried. There would have to be another way and the years of friendship and service that stretched out behind them assured Philippe that Arthur knew what he was thinking. "What did we ruin?" Philippe wondered as he took another slow step into the room, knowing that Arthur remained in the doorway, the rest of his family standing somewhere at the top of the grand staircase.

Christine pulled at the arm that continued to tighten and loosen about her throat, playing with her, teasing her with life and then slipping it from her grasp again. As she drew in a deep, gasping breath, her eyes locked with the desperate eyes of the man she loved. She watched as Raoul began to slowly rise to his knees from his sitting position. She had seen that look in his eyes on another dark night. Christine remembered that pleading look, the one begging her not to do anything foolish to let him pay whatever price might be demanded. As Christine watched her husband, she knew he had already paid the price for her life far too often and a thought began to grow in the darkest recesses of her mind. She prayed her child would understand what she was about to do and as Christine looked at her husband, the man she would always love, she prayed that he, too, would understand. And remember.

Raoul could hear his brother's voice behind him but his world had focused down to the woman who was so tantalizingly close and yet so painfully far away. His heart stopped beating each time the arm about her throat tightened and the lids slipped down over her eyes, her mouth opening and closing, no sound coming forth. Raoul found himself unable to breathe until the arm about his wife's throat loosened just a little and Christine gasped, drawing in a much-needed breath. He could no longer stand the pain in her eyes and he began to rise to his knees, ready to do whatever it took to save Christine's life and the life of their child, ready to once again pay whatever price was demanded. Yet as he rose to his knees, Raoul saw the look in his wife's eyes change from one of desperation to one of quiet resolve. He had seen that look in her eyes on one other night when both of their lives hung in the balance and she had made a decision. Raoul began to shake his head back and forth; he knew how stubborn his wife could be when she thought she was correct. "Christine," he pleaded, knowing she would understand. "Please, do not …"

"Raoul," Philippe ordered his younger brother. "Not another word!"

"Wise words," Xavier said in a strangely calm voice. "I suggest you take them to heart," he finished as his free hand pressed hard into Christine's swollen abdomen, eliciting a small cry of pain from his captive.

At the sound of Christine's cry, the look on Philippe's face hardened. "Leave her alone and let her go!"

"No!" Xavier said and tightened his hold on Christine.

"Why?" Philippe asked, his tone changing, softening, as he tried another tact. "I thought we were friends! You were my best friend!" He ventured another small step into the parlor. "What did I do that so offended you that you felt you had to take it out on my brother and his wife?" Philippe stopped and held out his hands. "Help me to understand!" He had seen the look that had passed between Raoul and Christine and Philippe prayed they would do nothing foolish until he was within distance to help.

"You were my friend," Xavier said softly in a moment of sanity before the madness took hold again. "You were until Monique entered the picture. She was mine from the day I first saw her! She did not belong to you! She belonged to me! She was mine! She will always be mine!"

A look of shock passed over Philippe's face. "I could not marry her; my father forbade it! I was happy to see her with you! I knew you could make her happy when I could not! From the moment my father would not give his consent, I never thought of Monique as anything but the wife of my beloved, best friend!"

"And how easy it was to sway your fool of a father!" Xavier shot back, his words plunging the room into stillness, save for Christine's gasping breaths. "A whispered word about a lack of money, my concern for the disgrace that would befall my best friend and it was all too simple to persuade a grieving fool of a man to prevent his heir from making the greatest mistake of his life!"

Philippe paled at Xavier's words. "You did what?" he breathed.

"Did you really think I would let you have her?" Xavier wondered. "She was mine! She will always be mine!" He twisted Christine toward the balustrade again and she screamed.

"Christine!" Raoul cried out, gripping a nearby table as he rose to his feet.

"We never did anything!" Philippe said, taking two steps forward, not caring any longer as he listened to Christine and his brother both cry out. "I stopped loving her the day your betrothal was announced!"

"But she never stopped loving you!" Xavier accused. "She still has all your letters! She thought she kept them hidden from me! But I was always smarter than she was! I was smarter than all of you!"

"Then why hurt Raoul? Why hurt Christine?" Philippe asked, desperate to keep Xavier talking as he watched the unspoken language that was passing between his brother and his sister-in-law. "If you need revenge, take it out on me! Not them!"

"I did!" Xavier snarled, his eyes glowing with a madness to rival Nico's. Raoul saw it and recognized it and shivered. "Your brother was never going to return home during your lifetime! You would die thinking he was dead!" He turned his attention back to Christine, his hand gripping her hair, pulling her head back, exposing her throat. "Your child was an added bonus," he hissed in her ear, loud enough for Raoul and Philippe to hear. "Raoul would never have returned until the child was grown and you were dead, as well. Your child would never have believed Raoul was its father!" Xavier returned his attention to Philippe as he let go of Christine's hair and her head sagged forward. "Everything you had built, every one of your failed dreams that you had placed upon your brother's shoulders was crumpled! And you would spend the rest of your life in misery!"

"Why?" Philippe demanded as he ventured another small, careful step forward, now almost parallel with where Raoul stood, holding on to the table for support, eyes once again locked with Christine's. "Dear God, why?"

"Because this is mine!" Xavier spat. "This whole valley is mine! It was always meant to be mine! Just because your ancestor got here first means nothing! You hear me! Nothing! This valley is my kingdom and Monique ruled it beside me! You were supposed to stay in Paris! You were not supposed to allow your brother to marry a strumpet who danced half-naked on some stage! You were not supposed to have a future!"

Philippe was stunned. "You … you … you …" he stammered. "You did this because of some stupid family feud that goes back centuries?" Real pain passed over Philippe's pale countenance. "I thought we had put that behind us! I thought you and I were better than the rest of them! I thought…"

"You were always thinking!" Xavier interrupted him. "That was always your downfall – too much thought and not enough action!"

And Philippe knew the time for thinking had passed the minute he thought his brother had been killed. He ventured a glance at Raoul who was slowly removing his hands from the table to which he clung. Philippe's gaze followed Raoul's own and he saw something in Christine's eyes that he could not name but Philippe was certain that the young couple also knew the time for decisive action had arrived. Philippe returned to Xavier, hoping to keep the other man's attention on him. "If you want the valley, we will leave and never return," Philippe told him gently, keeping a wary eye on Raoul and Christine. "You know I was thinking of selling Chagny." Philippe ventured a half-step forward. "I will sell it you," he told Xavier. "I will sell you everything and we shall all leave for Paris and never return." And another half-step forward. "Just let Christine go and we shall leave immediately."

"No!" Xavier screamed.

"Then keep me and do with me what you like," Philippe said as he stood still. "Just let Raoul and Christine go."

"It is too late!" Xavier said softly and then grew angry once more, pulling Christine closer to his body. "It is too damn late!"

"Raoul," Christine breathed as she looked at her husband, seeing his almost imperceptible nod. Christine closed her eyes, drew as deep a breath as she could manage and leaned her head forward, her mouth opening.

Xavier let out a shriek of pain as Christine's teeth closed about his forearm, biting hard enough to draw blood. "Bitch!" he screamed as he drew his arm away from about her throat.

Those who were in that parlor on that night would remember what happened next as a vague blur of rushed images.

As Xavier removed his arm from about her throat, Christine turned sharply, breaking free from his grasp. She knew that Raoul had recognized the resolved determination in her eyes and she stumbled toward him even as he began to reach for her. Yet Christine would never make it for Xavier lashed out with his bleeding arm and caught her shoulder, twisting her sideways, her heels catching in the hem of her gown. Christine let out a scream as she began to fall backwards toward the still too near balustrade. She could hear Xavier's triumphant laugh ringing in her ears as she continued backward toward her death, unable to disentangle the heels of her shoes from the hem of her gown.

Philippe watched in horror, unable to believe the words he had just heard, unable to believe what he was seeing as Christine began to stagger toward the balustrade, her added weight giving momentum to her motion. Suddenly from the corner of his eye, Philippe saw Raoul launch himself toward his wife. Philippe did not know from where his brother had found the strength but he remembered to breathe as he saw Raoul fall at Christine's feet, grabbing her about the knees, Christine suddenly falling forward. Raoul's head bumped into her swollen belly and Philippe watched as Christine wrapped her arms about Raoul's neck and he raised his face to look up at her.

"I promised to never let you fall," Raoul said as he panted, desperately trying to catch his breath.

Christine smiled but did not have a chance to reply as Philippe screamed at them.

"Gun!" he yelled as he lunged forward.

Raoul and Christine turned their heads to look at Xavier, their eyes going wide as they saw a pistol in his hand. Raoul quickly rose to his feet and pushed his wife into the corner of the balcony, shielding her and their child with his own body.

"No one leaves here tonight!" Xavier shouted as Philippe grabbed him, the two men struggling for the gun. They struggled for what seemed like hours, Xavier fighting to end life, Philippe fighting to save it. It seemed that Xavier had gained the advantage as he bent Philippe backward over the balustrade in the same way he had recently bent Christine over the same balustrade. As Philippe turned his head to see the ground below him, he felt his hands grab onto something hard and Philippe used one last burst of energy to push himself upright, tightening his grip on the gun to which he now held.

"Give it to me!" Xavier shouted as Philippe planted his feet on the flagstones, gaining the advantage and refusing to let go of the gun.

"Never!" Philippe shouted back as he pushed Xavier away from him.

A single shot echoed in the cold night air, followed by an angry scream as Xavier went tumbling over the balcony to his death, a death he had planned for Christine and her child. Philippe looked over the balcony at the broken body of the man he thought his best friend when his attention was drawn by a pained female scream. Philippe quickly turned to look into the corner of the balcony, his face going ashen at the sight that met his eyes.

Raoul was falling to his knees, Christine desperately trying to hold onto him, as she sunk to her own knees. "No, no, no," she was crying as Raoul coughed, each cough bringing blood to his lips. Raoul could not stay on his knees and sunk to the flagstones, his eyes closing. Christine sat back on her ankles, cradling her husband in her arms. "Raoul!" she screamed.

And in another darkened corner of France, another woman was cradling the man she loved in her arms. He was cold to the touch and his eyes were also closed. Another man stood nearby and, like Philippe, he was unable to do anything other than watch.

"Erik!" Tallis screamed.


	82. Chapter 82

**Chapter Summary:** Henri returns to England. Tallis bids goodbye to Antoinette. Philippe comes to see Monique and their parting becomes a heartbreaking ending for them both.

CHAPTER EIGHTY TWO

The man in the coach pulled his coat more tightly about him, trying to ward off the shivers he had been unable to stop for the last week. He huddled within his coat for a few moments, turning his head to look out the coach window, watching as familiar landmarks began to come into view. There was the church on the green where his parents had been married and he had been baptized. He could imagine the centuries of ancestors lying beneath the snow-covered ground welcoming him home while they rolled in their graves, astonished, dismayed and displeased at the life he had chosen. He would have laughed at the thought of bones rolling and rattling like dice in their coffins had he any energy left.

Suddenly the shivers that had caused him to shrink into his coat disappeared into a heat that threatened to drown him in his own sweat. He quickly sat up and shrugged out of his coat, ripping the tie from about his throat and tearing open his collar – small pearl buttons flying about the interior of the coach. He leaned toward the door, pulling down the window, not knowing or caring that it was now December and the temperature outside was enough to keep even the hardiest of individuals indoors, close to a warm hearth. All he could feel was the sharp slap of the wind upon flushed cheeks, cooling his face and sending his thoughts drifting back to the events that had brought him back to England, seeking the comfortable and familiar…

_It had taken what seemed life forever for voices to be heard drifting up the staircase, the sound of footsteps following quickly behind. He dared to take his eyes from the life he cradled so gently in his lap to look toward the staircase. There, like moths drawn to a flame, were several uniformed gendarmes and one person dressed in civilian clothes. He blinked once, twice, not daring to believe what he had seen and he turned back to the still from lying on the floor._

"_Help is here, Didier," Henri whispered. "You need to hold on just a little bit longer. Help is finally here!" Henri knew there would be no response from his friend but he had to believe that somewhere, somehow, Didier had heard and understood. Suddenly Henri was blinking in the light from several lanterns, a familiar man kneeling down beside him, reaching out to place fingers against Didier's neck._

"_He is alive," Senor Gallardo said, his head shaking as those same fingers reached for the bump that swelled and bruised Didier's face. "I do not like that at all." He looked down Didier's body. "And a broken leg and arm." Senor Gallardo looked over his shoulder at the three gendarmes behind him. "I am going need him moved to a bedroom but you must be careful of the arm and leg."_

"_You cannot move him," Henri said between teeth that had begun to chatter. "He will die if you move him." He turned to look at the village physician. "I promised I would not let him die."_

_Senor Gallardo had taken one look at Henri, his rumpled, still damp clothes, the blue tinge on his lips and barked additional orders to the gendarmes. "Blankets. Brandy. Now!" He placed a comforting hand on Henri's arm. "I will see that your promise is upheld," Senor Gallardo said softly. "I will not let your friend die."_

_Henri looked at Didier and nodded slowly, reluctantly surrendering his friend to the care of others before surrendering himself to that same care. Nearly two hours later, he had sat with Inspector Rousseau in chairs near the two bedrooms that Senor Gallardo hurried between. Henri had long since shrugged off the blanket that had been draped around his shoulders, claiming it was entirely too hot in the house. As his legs had begun to shake involuntarily, Inspector Rousseau had tried to slip the blanket back on, only to find Henri batting it away._

"_I do not need any damn blanket!" Henri had nearly shouted. "I need … I need…" his words were cut-off as Senor Gallardo finally stopped his movement between the two bedrooms to stand before the two men. Henri rose shakily to his feet. "How are they?" he asked, the trepidation evident in the tone of his voice._

"_I think they will be well given time," Senor Gallardo said with a slight smile before growing more serious. "Madame has been being violently ill but that is a good thing as we want her system purged of whatever remains of that drug." He smiled again. "It is an admirable thing your friend did, keeping that antidote hidden away, knowing it would be needed some day."_

"_Didier?" Henri wondered._

"_We have had to set both his leg and his arm. I am afraid he will be unable to walk until they both heal; he will be in a wheelchair for some time." Senor Gallardo shook his head. "I can feel no tenderness in his abdomen and that is a good sign for it suggests there is no internal bleeding but he broke some ribs during his fall."_

"_What about the head wound?" Inspector Rousseau asked._

"_I can feel nothing moving beneath the skin; I suspect it is a very nasty concussion." Senor Gallardo knew the closeness between Henri and Didier having often seen them together at the inn. "I believe your friend will recover," he tried assuring Henri. "It is going to be just a matter of patience and time."_

"_Thank you," Henri said, watching as Senor Gallardo nodded before disappearing back into the bedrooms to care for his patients. He turned to Inspector Rousseau. "I must return to Chagny. I need to know if anything has happened! I need …"_

"_You are in no condition to ride," Inspector Rousseau interrupted him. "You should allow the doctor to examine you."_

"_I have a chill from being the snow and a headache from being hit but nothing else," Henri said angrily. "And I am damn well returning to Chagny!" Henri shook off the hand that Inspector Rousseau placed on his arm in a vain attempt to restrain him before storming off down the hall and down the stairs into the darkened first floor._

"_You," Inspector Rousseau said as he pointed at a young officer, "go with him. I am entrusting his safety to your hands. Am I understood?"_

_"Yes, sir," the young officer replied as he turned smartly and quickly followed Henri down the stairs. The officer found himself praying all the way through that dark night as he galloped behind Henri. He prayed that the young man knew where he was going, that he was still in his right mind and that he was not about to get either one of them killed in a riding accident or thrown from their horses and left to die in the cold and snow._

_But Henri knew exactly where he was going and finally turned a corner and raced his horse down the long drive to the bottom of the stairs that led to Chagny. He slid from his saddle, trusting the waiting groomsman to care for his tired, snorting mount. Henri took the front stairs, two at a time, the young officer following behind and burst through the front door. He looked at the valet who was waiting in his usual seat at the front door. "Where is my cousin, Philippe?" Henri asked._

"_Upstairs," the valet began, "but I do not think that…"_

"_I did not ask for your opinion!" Henri shot back before running up the grand staircase, ignoring the fire that burned in his lungs and the chill that shivered his limbs. He paused at the top of the stairs, bending over to catch his breath when he heard Philippe's angry voice._

"_You mean to tell me that Henri has known all along!" Philippe sounded incredulous as well as angry._

"_It was only a suspicion," Arthur's calm voice could be heard replying. "He only trusted me with this knowledge a few days ago. He and Didier…"_

"_They should have come to me!" Philippe shouted. "What happened here tonight could have been prevented if they had! Raoul and Christine would not now be fighting for their lives if he had!" Philippe's voice rose another notch. "I will never forgive him for this!"_

_It was all that Henri had needed to hear and he turned around and quietly descended the staircase, seeking out the downstairs library where he knew writing materials could be found. He composed a letter to Philippe, placing it on the desk in his cousin's study. Henri then crept up the side staircase that Christine had suggested Monsieur Corhei use. He walked quietly to his rooms, retrieved a new coat and the money he had left in his bureau and left down the same staircase and across the grounds to the stables where Henri retrieved a fresh horse. Then, feeling betrayed and with his confidence utterly shattered Henri quietly and without being seen slipped away into the dark winter night, not hearing the words that followed upon Philippe's angry outburst._

"_You do not know what torment Henri has been under," Arthur told Philippe. "He was the one we did not believe when he said he heard Raoul's voice. He has only been trying to protect this family as he struggled to find the proof to a truth that he knew would shatter you and it has. You may not know it yet, not be able to feel it yet, but your world has been shattered." Arthur's voice grew quiet. "You should not forget what it is that you owe to your cousin."_

_"I know, I know." Philippe's tired, pained sigh could be heard by all those gathered all down the long upstairs hallway. "I owe him more than I shall ever be able to repay. I have underestimated and overlooked and taken Henri for granted; it shall never happen again!"_

Henri had ridden for hours in that dark night, stopping at the Saint Joan Inn long enough to change horses and ask that his original mount be returned to Chagny. The people at the inn had urged Henri to wait till morning for the coach. He had refused. They had tried to bribe him with a warm bed in a warm room and again Henri had refused. The owner of the inn, recognizing the young man who was demanding a new horse, finally persuaded Henri to wait thirty minutes while he dressed and his private coach could be prepared. Henri, emotionally and physically tired beyond anything he ever thought possible, could only nod; he had not truly thought that he would be able to sit a horse the remaining distance to Lyon. After climbing into the coach, Henri would barely remember the ride to Lyon. He was exhausted and leaned back to try to rest. Yet rest would not come as his eyes closed, only to reopen at the sound of Philippe's angry words echoing in his mind. The shivers that had started at Cote de Vallee seemed to gain strength as Henri thought of his cousin and the family, for which Raoul had longed, struggling for their lives. He had failed again. He had always tried and failed. Henri shook a head that he did not even realize was shaking – he would never be able to live up to the high standards set by his entire family. He sighed, perhaps it was just as well he was returning home, far better to die in one's own bed in one's own country than in a home and country where he was not wanted.

"Mother will want me," Henri chattered as he closed the window of the coach in which he now rode. It had gotten cold again and Henri pulled his coat back on and returned his gaze out the window, a smile crossing his face. The coach was pulling through familiar iron gates and suddenly Henri felt incredibly tired. He leaned against the back of the coach seat and closed his eyes. Henri tried desperately to remember the long train ride from Lyon to Calais. He remembered even less of the ferry crossing from Calais to Dover. He remembered asking for a coach that would drive him to his family's estate in the countryside outside of London. Henri remembered getting into the coach and that was the last thing he could clearly remember and now he no longer cared. The coach had stopped in front of a sprawling manor home and Henri found the latch to the coach door and managed to exit without falling on his face, a man in a suit coming through the manor's front door to greet him.

"My Lord!" the man exclaimed as he reached out for Henri.

"Thompson," Henri said and coughed, his whole body shaking. "Is my mother at home?"

"Aye," Thompson replied. He had been secretary to Henri's father since before Henri was born. "She is getting ready to go to London to spend the week with your lord father."

Henri closed his eyes, swaying on his feet. "Then just pay the nice coachman there and show me to my bed."

Thompson looked at the man sitting atop the coach and nodded. "I shall return momentarily," he said.

"I shall wait," the man replied.

"Now that the pleasantries are over," Henri said and weaved back and forth up the pathway to the front door of his childhood home. He kept shrugging off Thompson's help. "I am perfectly fine," Henri said between teeth that would not stop chattering. Henri's shaking hand twisted the knob and pushed the front door open. He managed a wavering smile for the woman who stood at the bottom of the stairs, a questioning look on her pleasant face as she turned to see who had come through her front door. "Hello, Mother," Henri said before the eyes rolled up into his head and he fell to the marble floor.

Twenty-four hours later, Lord Steven De Chagny strode quickly through the front door of his ancestral home, throwing hat and coat at the waiting valet. He rushed up the stairs, down the hallway and through the closed door of his only child's bedroom. "Dear God," Steven breathed at the sight that met his eyes.

Henri was lying on his back in the center of his bed, his complexion as white as the sheets upon which he rested. His eyes were closed and his raspy breathing echoed about the room. His arms were still upon the bed linens but his legs twitched beneath them. Henri's mother sat on the bed beside her son, wiping the perspiration from his face and neck, wringing the cloth out in a nearby basin before gently repeating her actions. A man stood at the end of Henri's bed, carefully observing the unconscious young man; he turned at the sound of Steven's voice.

"My Lord," Sir Patrick Sutton, a member of the Royal College of Physicians addressed Steven.

"What is wrong with my son?" Steven asked as he approached to stand next to Sir Sutton.

"Pneumonia," Sir Sutton replied. "I believe it has spread to both of his lungs." He watched the color drain from Steven's face. "Your son is running a very high fever and it has all been complicated by the blows he has received to his head."

"What!" Steven blurted out.

"Steven!" Sarah turned her head to look at her husband. "Do not raise your voice in this room!" she warned him before turning back to her son.

"I am sorry, my dear," Steven said as he walked around the bed to stand behind his wife, placing his hands on her shoulders. "I do not yet know what has happened but I know I shall never forgive Philippe for allowing it!"

"Do not speak so harshly," Sarah told him softly. "There are several telegrams waiting for you in your study." She shook her head. "So very much has happened and I do not even know how to begin to tell you. Just know that your son risked his own live to save the lives of other." Sarah could see from the corner of her eye as Steven's hand reached out to rest upon Henri's still one. "He has finally become the man we always knew he could be." She sighed and continued to cool Henri's feverish skin with her cloth. "I just pray it has not come too late or at too high a price."

Steven could not look at the doctor as he voiced his next question. "Is my son going to die?"

Sir Sutton drew a deep breath before answering. "I cannot give you an answer to that." He shook his head. "So much of your son's recovery rests upon his own desire to recover."

Steven's hand tightened upon Henri's and he leaned over his wife's shoulder. "You have spent an entire life fighting me at every turn," he whispered so that only Sarah and Henri could hear. "Do not stop fighting me now!" Steven finally noted the tears that ran down his wife's cheeks as she tended to their only child and he willed back his own. "You must fight, Henri!" Steven urged his son. "You must!"

And in France another person was standing in a silent room, eyes closed, unable to look at the person who stood before her.

"So that is it," Antoinette said simply, her hands clasped at her waist.

"Yes," Tallis replied. "That is it."

"You are just going to turn your back on everything here in France – your family, your life, me – and return to England." Antoinette shook her head. "You know you will be safe and loved here."

Tallis nodded, her eyes opening. "I know that," she replied softly. "I also know that I can no longer use my family and my friends as shields to hide behind." She sighed. "Nor can I use the walls of a convent to hide behind." The fire of resolve flared in her gray eyes. "No, I have to face my life. I have to face what I made of my life." The fire quickly dampened as a sad smile crossed Tallis' lips and she tilted her head to one side. "I have to grow up and make the best of what I have done. England and Serge offer me that chance."

"You will be safe," Antoinette wondered, "there in that cottage. No one will bother you?"

"My family is known and respected in Kingsand," Tallis told her. "They are known as skilled craftsman and capable farmers." A small laugh escaped from Tallis' lips. "That is quite amazing considering the fact that they are farming land that is oft times considering quite inhospitable."

Antoinette burst into laughter. "Quite inhospitable," she repeated through her laughter. "I think you will be quite safe in your cottage by the sea, after all!"

"I think…" Tallis paused for a brief moment. "…I shall. Plus Serge is insisting that I remain on as his housekeeper." A genuine smile softened Tallis' features as she reached out a hand to place over the ones that Antoinette had clasped at her waist. "You have taught me well. You have given me knowledge that I am quite certain that I should not have found anywhere else. I would not be able to even contemplate managing such a grand home if I had not had the opportunity to learn from you." Tallis took her other hand and clasped Antoinette's hands in her own. "And you gave the opportunity to have so much more," she whispered. "You introduced me to a love and memories that shall carry me throughout my lifetime. That is something for which I shall never be able to thank you."

"Oh, my dear," Antoinette said as she freed her hands and drew Tallis into her embrace. "You are so very welcome." Antoinette hugged Tallis close. "I shall miss you but I know you are only a week's travel away. I am going to insist on coming to visit." She drew back to look at Tallis, a serious, rather stern look in her eye. "Let us just be clear on one thing, you are not to schedule anything that will require my visit until my grandchild is born and at least a few months old."

Tallis smiled brightly. "I understand." Then she sighed. "I do not think I shall be able to do anything until August at the earliest." She laughed a little bit. "Serge is going to marry Ilse at the end of next year and he is bringing her and her family and his family to visit this vacation home he has purchased. They shall be there all summer!"

"All summer?" Antoinette interrupted, her eyebrow raising in question.

"Serge has promised my privacy when I am at the cottage." Tallis lightly tapped her hands on Antoinette's back. "After all we endured in the darkness beneath the opera house, I have come to trust his words implicitly. Serge is an honest man and I know that he will allow … me, my privacy."

Antoinette nodded. "It is well, then," she said and released Tallis from her arms, taking the younger woman's hand and walking Tallis to the front door. Antoinette helped Tallis slip a warm cape over her shoulders before pulling her into one last hug. "Go with God, my beloved friend," Antoinette whispered in Tallis ear before letting her go one last time. Antoinette watched as Tallis walked out her front door and into the carriage waiting to take go to the train station. Antoinette watched as the window opened and a hand waved goodbye. "Go with God, my beloved friend," she repeated as she raised a hand to her lips and blew a kiss after the disappearing coach.

Even as one coach departed from a home, another was arriving at a home in the south of France. It stopped in front of the home whose windows seemed to look darkly and somberly out upon a changed world. A warmly dressed man descended from the top of the coach, opening the door and waiting as the lone occupant exited. Both men stood quietly in what warmth the December afternoon could afford, one's eyes averted by years of training and service, the other's eyes fixed on the mourning wreath on the front door that looked all too familiar.

"Wait here until I return," Philippe ordered his servant who still held to the coach door.

"_Oui, Monsieur le Comte_," the man replied, closing the door as Philippe walked up to the front of Cote de Vallee and knocked lightly just below the mourning wreath.

The door opened and a servant dressed completely in black looked at Philippe. "Please come in," he said softly, opening the door, allowing Philippe to enter a home in which he had freely come and gone for years. The man closed the door behind Philippe. "Come with me, if you would please, sir."

Philippe slowly followed the man down a dark hallway and into a parlor where the drapes were partially drawn, throwing the room into the half-light of limbo. He turned briefly to look at the man close the door behind him before turning back to the room, watching a man slowly rise to his feet from the chair in which he sat.

"What are you doing here?" the man wondered.

"I would like to see Madame, if I may," Philippe replied, knowing the man before him was Didier's father, Thiery. Philippe also knew that Thiery was not only caring for his son and settling Xavier's affairs but protecting Monique from the talk and scandal that had come forth from the events of two weeks ago.

"I do not think that is wise," Thiery told him.

"I do," a female voice said from the doorway and both men turned around to find Monique standing there, Philippe's heart breaking at the sight of her. She was pale and strangely calm, her demeanor only accented by the severe black she wore and the hair that was pulled tightly back and wrapped in a bun at the base of her neck. "It shall be all right, Thiery," Monique said as she entered the room, her eyes never looking at Philippe. "What must be said will not take long."

Thiery looked from one person to the other. "I do not know…"

"Please," Monique pleaded softly. "I just need a few moments alone with the Comte. Go see to Didier; he is asking for you."

Thiery crossed to her side and lightly kissed Monique on her cheek. "If you need anything," he whispered in her ear.

Monique only nodded and waited until the door had closed behind her cousin-in-law. She stood still as she looked at Philippe. "How are the Vicomte and his wife?" she asked formally.

A puzzled expression crossed Philippe's face. "Raoul is recovering; the bullet implanted in his shoulder and did not hit any vital organs. The blood he was coughing up was from ribs that re-cracked and pushed against his lungs. Christine and her child are as well as can be expected. Now we must just wait until the baby is born to know for certain that all is well. Monsieur Corhei is predicting a happy outcome for all."

"I am glad, then," Monique replied in a coldly civil tone. "Senor Gallardo predicts the same for my young cousin; although, it will be quite some time before Didier is able to walk again. And what of Lord De Chagny, Didier is very concerned about his friend."

"It is a very slow recovery for Henri, I am afraid," Philippe told her, his head shaking. "His parents send us updates on his condition nearly every other day. We are all very thankful that he is on the mend."

"Thank you, Monsieur le Comte," Monique replied, her eyes dropping to look at the carpet beneath her feet. "That news shall, indeed, cheer my young cousin."

There was a silence in the room as Philippe studied the stranger before him. "What are you doing?" he finally blurted out. "You are my friend! You are…" he would not get the chance to finish his sentence.

"I am the widow of the man who tried to murder your brother and his wife," Monique said as she raised her head, her eyes locking with Philippe. "He tried to murder your cousin. He tried to murder Didier and he tried to murder me," she finished softly. "There can be nothing left between us."

Philippe quickly crossed to Monique's side, taking her by the arms. "Do not say that!" he said. "We have lost so many years! Suddenly there are many more years stretching before us! We have a second chance!"

"We have nothing, Philippe," Monique told him softly, her violet eyes searching his face. "Do you not understand? I cannot and I will not bring any scandal to your family and that is what I should bring if anything were to form between us."

"Anything to form between us?" Philippe was stunned and pained. "I have never stopped loving you and I know you have never stopped loving me!"

Monique raised a single hand to rest briefly against Philippe's cheek. "Do you not think I know those things?" she asked. "If only you knew how much I have always loved you." She tried to smile but her lips only trembled. "I have known from the first moments of our honeymoon that my husband arranged our separation so that he could claim me. I buried that knowledge in the back of my mind for I had made my choice and I needed to make the best of it." She took back her hand and gently released Philippe's arms. Monique walked to the fireplace, staring into it so she would not have to look at the man in the room. "I think I knew from almost that moment that there was something wrong with my new husband. I knew he had always coveted everything you had and I knew that I would need to do something to protect you." She sighed, the tears she would not shed audible in her voice. "If you only knew, everything I tried to do all these years to protect you." Monique placed her hands against the mantle. "I knew of the drugged tea, it was my punishment for every time I did something that displeased him. I just never thought he would use it to try to kill me." She shook her head. "And there were other punishments. Things that he did that you will never know, ways that he claimed a heart and a soul that he knew still belonged to you."

"That bastard," Philippe hissed between clenched teeth.

Monique turned back to Philippe, her eyes closing. "But the worst punishment … the worst thing he ever did to me … was the one thing he knew would break my heart." Her eyes opened. "He denied me a child. He said that if I could not love him with all that I was than I would never be able to love his child with all that I was. That is why he made Didier his heir." Her head shook. "Poor, sweet Didier; he has known all these years. He heard things in the night, saw things during the day. He found Xavier's apothecary stash and tried so hard to protect me. I never thought Xavier would ever hurt him." Monique's eyes drifted downward. "I never thought him capable of such cruelty toward anyone but me. I was happy to take his punishment as long as it prevented him from hurting anyone else." A frown creased her pale features. "How could I have been so wrong?"

"I am so sorry," Philippe's voice trembled with emotion. "I wish you had come to me. I wish…"

Monique raised her head. "What could you have done, Philippe? What? He was my husband!"

"And he was my friend!" Philippe answered back. "But – surely – I could have done something!"

"Let it go, Philippe," Monique told him as she raised a hand to rub against her temple. "Please, just let it go. Let me go."

"I cannot!" Philippe insisted. "I will not!"

Monique sounded so tired. "You must. You may not even realize it yet, but you are mourning the loss of your best friend. You are mourning his betrayal." Her chin trembled. "You are mourning all that has ever been between your families. You do not know what you are saying, what you are asking of me!"

"I do know!" Philippe replied angrily as he crossed to Monique, fighting down the urge to take her in his arms. Instead, he stood still before her, a finger going gently to her chin, lifting her head so that he could stare into her eyes. "I do know," he said gently.

"You are mourning your friend," Monique told him, "but have you forgotten that I am mourning my husband?

"You did not love him!"

Monique shook her head. "I did love him, Philippe. That is the problem; in my own way, I did love him." She looked pleadingly at the man standing before her. "When Xavier was calm and rational, he was the good, decent man who – I believe – truly loved me. And that is the man I am mourning – the man who gave me a good life and everything I ever needed."

Philippe was hurt and confused. 'I do not understand. We have a chance to get back all that was taken from us and you are letting it go!"

"It is not you," Monique said, desperately trying to make Philippe understand. "It is me. I need time. I need to mourn Xavier. I need to mourn my actions that were not enough to stop him from committing the actions that he did. I need to mourn my own self – the girl that I allowed to be swallowed up and lost, leaving only a shell of a human being behind."

Philippe closed his eyes as he willed away the tears that wanted to start; once again he was going to lose the woman he loved. Once again Xavier – even from the grave – was going to win. "Where will you go? What will you do?"

"This house is going to be closed by the end of the week and will remain closed until Didier returns with a bride to restore love to this home," Monique began. "My sister and her husband have a country home in Italy that they use during the summer. I am going to go there." She shook her head as Philippe's lips opened. "I am begging you, Philippe; for all that has ever been between us, please do not try to find me." She held up her right hand, a ruby and diamond ring glowing in the dim light of the parlor. "You must give me one year from the first of January. You must give me the time I need. If in one's year time, you receive this ring in the mail, then you know that I am coming back to you."

"And if not?" Philippe asked softly.

"Then you must go on as if I were dead to you," Monique told him, knowing her harsh words would break his heart as surely as they broke hers. She placed her hands on Philippe's arms. "Do you understand?"

"Yes," Philippe nodded and leaned forward, seeking and finding Monique's lips for a kiss that may need to last the rest of his life. Slowly Philippe drew back. "I will always love you," he whispered. "Always." He turned and left the room, not looking back, not seeing as Monique collapsed into a chair, her hands going over her face as she finally granted herself permission to cry.

"Always," came the word whispered behind hands that hid the tears of a lifetime.


	83. Chapter 83

**Chapter Summary:** After all the torment the two couples have been through, resolutions are finally reached for Raoul and Christine, and Erik and Tallis.

_**Author's Notes:** Well, folks, this is it. After 10 months we have finally reached the last chapter of this story. I had never planned for it to go on so long but this story took on a life of its own and I just went along for the ride. I would like to say a very sincere "Thank You" to all those have been reading and for all the comments, constructive criticism and the Evil Plot Bunnies your comments have hatched. I do not think any of you will ever know how much all of that means to me. I mean it when I say that I like to tell stories and it is that which matters most to me. Yes, I like the comments (Hey! I am only human, 'kay?) but to know that there are folks who actually read – wow! Just … wow! There is still an epilogue to come but that will have to wait while I pick out a new car and get new furniture delivered. I will say there are several Story Bunnies that this epic has created but they will have to wait, as well; I am going to be reading for a change and encouraging all who have been encouraging me! Finally _**Tissue Issue**_ warning time! Seriously! And – once again – 'Thank you!' from the bottom of my heart! _

CHAPTER EIGHTY THREE

As the winds of winter blew November into December, the days grew shorter and the nights grew longer and colder. Heavy snows blanketed the land as far and as wide as the eye could see. The great storms eventually blew away leaving behind light flurries that seemed to fall every other day. To those who watched from the gray slush and bright lights of the city and those who watched from the white drifts and still nights of the country, it seemed as if the old year was determined to bury the events of the past months. The old year attempted to hide those events beneath a cold blanket that would eventually melt away and help a new year to blossom forth. Those who hustled and bustled about the great cities welcoming forth a new social season paid little heed to the greater emotions that swirled about them. Their attention was focused on the latest fashions, the newest opera, and the juiciest scandal. Those in the country looked at the animals in their barns, the grains in the silos and began to plan for the upcoming planting season, knowing that careful planning would lead to contentment and safety for all those facing the next long winter.

As December progressed toward January, the holiday season saw the gathering of families, the buying and exchanging of gifts and the warmth of a love that tried to be lived all year long. It was a bright time of year with the gentle glow of candles replacing the harsh light from gas lamps. Careless kisses and meaningless flirtations drifted through the crowded drawing rooms of the social set, men and women caring little for the consequences that would accompany their headaches the next morning. Yet there were those who kept family and friends close, having learned just how fragile life truly could be. They did not need to hear the breaking of crystal or watch the melting of ice and snow to know that nothing in life was guaranteed or permanent and that the only eternal thing was the love of the season that so many others took for granted.

Finally the old year faded away and a new year began. It slipped in while some people partied and others slept. It began as another snowstorm swept over the land, a last gasp from a year that some would never remember and others would never forget. But as clocks began to strike midnight, the snow faded away as the first minutes of the new year greeted the world with a moonless night, the twinkling of the stars glistening off the snow below. Those who looked out their windows could have sworn that exquisite diamonds that had fallen from Heaven to blanket the world below. It seemed to those who watched that the promise of the new year, the new lives and the new possibilities that lay ahead were beginning with as bright and as glittering a promise as God would allow. But even the joy and wonder of the holiday season, the heady romance and expectations of the changing of the years must give way to the more mundane routine of the life that must be lived during the other days of the year.

Raoul sat in the library at Chagny, the latest paper from Paris in his hand, yet his eyes could not see the print before him, his mind could not form the words into coherent sentences. He finally sighed, folding the paper and placing it on the table before him. Raoul raised his eyes to the ceiling, trying to see past the inlaid wooden medallions and into the rooms above. He sat very still as he listened to the stillness of the great house - the only sound reaching his ears, the ticking of the grandfather clock that held a position of prominence at the bottom of the grand staircase. "I cannot take this," Raoul sighed as he rose to his feet.

"Where are you going?" Philippe asked as he raised his head from the Paris and Lyon papers that were scattered on the desk before him. Philippe did not even know why he asked for he knew perfectly well where his brother was going.

Raoul glanced briefly at the mantle clock. "It has been nearly three hours," he said. "I am going to go upstairs and look in on Christine. She sleeps so much these days."

"She has been through much over these last weeks," Philippe reminded his brother. "Did Monsieur Corhei not tell you to expect this? Did he not say that Christine would need her rest?"

"But it has been a month, Philippe!" Raoul reminded his brother. "It is the middle of February; I thought things would ease by now. I thought…" He shook his head. "I am going upstairs to look in on my wife."

"I cannot stop you," Philippe replied as he turned back to the papers, a smile crossing his face. "But you know what happens when you wake her."

"I do not care," Raoul muttered under his breath as he left the library, turning toward the front of the house to climb the staircase to the second floor. He paused momentarily at the top of the stairs, panting slightly. Raoul wondered when the time would come that mere everyday physical exertion would not be such a monumental undertaking. As he caught his breath, Raoul placed the thought in the back of his mind - his concern turning to his wife and the exhaustion she had been experiencing. He knew it was to be expected after everything that had happened but it still worried him. It frightened him to see the dark circles under her eyes, to hear her yawn, to feel her leave their bed every few hours during the night. Yes, she had been getting more sleep but it was still not enough. Raoul just knew it was not enough and he wanted to worry over Christine. She had done enough worrying over him, now it was his turn to repay her love and concern. Raoul paused at the doorway to their bedroom suite, gathering his nerves before turning the knob and entering the room, quietly closing the door behind him, a smile crossing his lips.

Christine lay crosswise on their huge bed, her feet dangling off one side and her head resting upon her hands at the opposite side. Her hair was caught in a ribbon at the base of her neck and spread out on the bed like spilled chocolate. A fire burned merrily in the hearth yet Christine had taken a spare blanket and thrown it over herself. Now her cheeks were flushed from the heat, her lips were slightly open, her breath was even and steady and Raoul thought how peaceful she looked at that moment. He smiled as Christine stretched before drawing her knees up toward her chest and adjusting her head upon her arms. It was at moments like this that Raoul knew his wife was truly at peace and it was these moments that he wished he could give her in abundance for she had more than earned her share of earthly peace.

A little noise coming from near the hearth caught Raoul's attention and he saw a tiny movement from the corner of his eye. Raoul shook his head, a small smile lighting his face as he walked over to the cradle that rested close enough to the hearth to keep a new infant comfortable. "What are you doing awake?" Raoul asked the infant who was staring back at him. He knew the child knew his voice for suddenly little arms and legs were flailing away. "You have all ready kicked your blanket off," he said as he reached in to lift the tiny infant into his arms. "And if you keep this up, your mother is going to awaken and you know she needs her sleep." Raoul cradled his child next to his heart and walked to a chair near the bed, sitting down, always careful of the precious bundle he held. Raoul placed a hand on the baby's chest and laughed softly as little fists began to knock against it. He stared at his child for a moment, the wispy curls of blonde hair, Christine's nose and soft lips, his eyes and long fingers and Raoul thought his heart would break. He leaned over and placed a kiss on the baby's forehead. "My sweet little Isabelle," he whispered and heard a contented sigh coming from the bed. "How long have you been awake?" Raoul asked, never taking his eyes from his daughter's face.

"Since before you walked through the door," Christine replied. "I awoke the minute Isabelle began to fuss." Christine rolled over and moved so that she could sit on the edge of the bed, watching her husband and her daughter. "I did not want to say anything for I do so love to watch you with her."

"I thought you were asleep and when I heard Isabelle, I thought I would pick her up and quiet her down so she would not disturb you," Raoul said.

Christine shook her head. "Raoul, you do not ever need an excuse to pick up and cuddle your own daughter!" She drew her legs up so that she could sit cross-legged and arranged the skirt of her gown about her. She smiled and fought back the tears at a sight she thought she would never see – her child cradled in her father's arms. Christine laughed as she finally took note of where Isabelle's jerky hands were hitting. "Do you know she is the only one who can do that?" Christine asked.

"Do what?" Raoul wondered as he dragged his eyes from his daughter to gaze at her mother.

Christine nodded at Raoul's hands. "Isabelle is the only one who can touch your healing fingernails without you even wincing in pain."

Raoul turned back to Isabelle and smiled softly at the baby who was making little noises. He remembered the first morning he and Christine had awakened to the strange sounds coming from the cradle near their bed. It had taken a moment before they realized what was happening and then they had both jumped from their bed to stare in wonderment at their child. Raoul shook his head; it seemed that every day brought forth a new miracle from his daughter. "It does not hurt," Raoul told Christine as he wrapped Isabelle's tiny hand in one of his own and leaned over to kiss it. "It feels like the touch of an angel's kiss – light and soft." Raoul sighed and shook his head.

"What is it?" Christine asked gently, hoping to draw her husband out. She knew that he kept things from her – the worst things – but Christine also knew that Raoul needed to talk. More importantly, Christine knew that she needed to listen.

From the very moment Isabelle had finally drawn her first shaky breath, Raoul accepted the fact that he had been desperately ignoring deeply buried emotions. He had needed to comfort and calm Christine during those first worrying seconds. Then he and Christine had basked in the love and warmth that was poured forth upon their new family. Then it was just being happily lost in a glowing haze as he watched his wife and daughter. Raoul had wanted to hold onto that love, stay in that haze and ignore the emotions that surfaced every night. He had not thought it possible for his darkest nightmares to grow any darker, to get any worse; yet with Isabelle's birth they had. Now Raoul was haunted by new images, images he dared not even name. "She is so perfect," he said softly, placing his hand back on Isabelle's chest, loving the feel of her tiny heart beating beneath it. "She is just so perfect and so innocent." Raoul turned to Christine. "I want to keep her like that." He turned back to the baby in his arms. "I want her to stay like this – safe in my arms. I do not want her to grow up. I do not want her to ever have a broken heart. I never want her to be hurt. I never want her to know just how cruel and how evil this world can be." Raoul's voice trembled with emotion. "I want her to stay innocent."

"Raoul," Christine said with a shake of her head, "you know that is not realistic."

"I know but… but…"

"But what?" Christine asked gently.

Raoul watched as Isabelle stared up him. He could tell that this little miracle loved him and trusted him to protect her. Raoul drew a deep breath and hugged his daughter closer to his chest, leaning back in the seat and closing his eyes so that he would not have to look at Christine. Raoul knew he would have to tell Christine things he had hoped to keep from her for he had not wanted her to share in his nightmares. "When those men first took me and began to hurt me, I kept pleading with them to not send things to you and to Philippe. I kept begging God to take care of you, if I would not return. I just wanted you to be loved." He slowly shook his head. "When that bastard told me you were expecting our child, I began to lose my mind. I thought I saw you every day and spoke with you every day."

Christine closed her eyes in pain as her husband continued to speak softly. She opened them again to glance at Isabelle who was still safe in her father's arms, still staring up at Raoul's face, listening to his voice.

"They swore I would never see you again, that I would never see our child. They swore that Isabelle would spend the rest of her life calling someone else 'Papa'." Raoul opened his eyes but looked at Isabelle, unable to look at the expression on his wife's face. "The thought of someone else raising my child, sharing your bed – the thought that it might have been your Angel – would make me so angry. And that is when the pain would start all over again." A bitter laugh escaped Raoul's lips, upsetting Isabelle and he leaned over, kissing her forehead and Isabelle quieted down again. "Not that they needed any excuse to hurt me." He finally turned to look at Christine. "Yet the one thing that sustained me through days and nights of endless pain was the thought of you, the memory of all that we had shared, that fact that is was me you chose, me that you loved."

"Do you not think that is also what kept me going?" Christine wondered as she sighed inwardly, grateful that Raoul was finally opening up to her. "Once I stopped being haunted by the memories of what we shared, those memories began to be my greatest comfort." Now it was Christine's turn to shake her head, to share things that Raoul would not wish to hear. "Yes, Erik sought me out. Yes, I admitted him into my house by the sea. Yes, the argument we had nearly caused me to lose Isabelle." Christine watched as Raoul turned from her to run a single finger down their daughter's soft cheek. "But that argument, having to actually say what had been done to you, to actually have to face those images, was the moment that I think I finally truly began to grieve your loss. I would cry for hours on end and it did not matter whether it was day or night. All the tears I had been saving up began to let loose in a flood that I thought would never stop. Yet as Erik returned time and time again, I began to realize something."

Raoul turned back to look at his wife. "What was that?" he wondered.

"That I am…" Christine shook her head and turned it away. "That I was not a very nice person. As I spent hours talking with Erik, talking about you and what you had meant to me, talking about the woman he was growing to love and how much she was like you, I finally came to understand that I was a child. I was a spoiled manipulative little girl who had everything she had ever wanted and did not realize it until it was too late and God had taken away her life, changing her world forever. It was a lesson I wanted Erik to learn before it was too late for him and the woman who did what I could not." Christine turned her head back to look at Raoul. "She was a real woman who could turn a spoiled little boy into a man. She was not the child I was." Christine smiled slowly, her gaze turning inwards as her memory drifted back. "I did not even realize what was happening when I felt Isabelle move for the first time but when I finally did realize, it was the miracle for which I sought. It happened right before your birthday and I went to the cathedral on that day and lit a candle for you. It was on that day that I knew you had forgiven me for being a spoiled, selfish liar. I was the day that I knew you had forgiven me for what I had done that led to your death. It was the day that I knew you trusted me to raise your child to be all that she could be. It was the day that I finally finished growing up. Being forgiven allows a person to forgive. And I finally forgave Erik and he forgave me and we let each other go – he let me go to find my peace in your memories and with your child. I let him go to find his peace with that woman who loved him so." Christine sighed. "I am not the same person who you married, Raoul. That spoiled, little girl died the day that Philippe placed your crest ring into my hand and told me you were dead. That little girl was buried with the remains of a body in a coffin upon which she placed a lone Calla lily before placing a goodbye kiss upon warm wood because she could not kiss you."

Raoul looked at the infant in his arms, seeing Isabelle's tiny mouth open into a yawn, as her eyes began to close and she fell asleep, safe and content in her father's arms. Raoul turned his attention back to Christine. "Do you think you are the only one who died? That boy you married – the one who always saw the good in everything, who only saw the possibilities – is gone, as well. He died the day he stopped believing in those possibilities. He began to die the day he woke up bound and gagged in a coffin." Raoul paused and let out a long breath, careful not to disturb the baby sleeping next to his beating heart. "He died the day when he surrendered the last of his will to that madman, begging that monster to let him die, to just kill him and end the insanity. He died in a crypt in which his family all ready thought he rested." Raoul wanted to cry but would not let Christine see any more of his tears. "He is gone, Christine; the boy you married is gone and I do not think I can ever find him again." Raoul turned his attention back to Isabelle.

Christine watched silently for long moments as Raoul ran a gentle hand down Isabelle's tiny arms and legs, caressing his child and holding her as if she were his only lifeline to a world he could no longer understand. Christine closed her eyes as she willed back her own tears. "I have a proposition for you," she said as she opened them, watching Raoul turn his head back toward her.

"What is that?" Raoul wondered, unable to read the expression on his wife's face.

"I know how very much you love Isabelle," Christine began. "One only needs to watch you with her, to see how content she is when she is in your arms, to know that there is a bond between you both that will never be broken."

"There is one between you and her, as well!" Raoul exclaimed.

"Please let me finish, Raoul," Christine said as she uncrossed her legs. "I know that we are not the same people we once were and, after all that has happened, that is as it should be. I also know you have seen the letters I wrote to Philippe. What you do not know is before I sent that second letter, I was planning on taking the money you had placed in my name and going to America to start life over after Isabelle was born. I thought I was protecting her. I thought I was going to raise her in a world of love." Christine rose to her feet, Raoul having to lift his head to look at her. "I know – now – that that world of love is here – with you. Isabelle will always be loved and protected when she is with you." Christine drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I want you to give me a divorce and let me go."

Raoul opened and closed his mouth several times, unable to breathe, unable to think, unable to say a single word to what Christine had just asked him.

"After everything you have been through you deserve a nice person to be your wife and Isabelle deserves a nice person to be her mother." Christine shook her head. "Xavier was correct, you know; I am just a girl who danced on an opera stage. I am no fit wife for a gentleman. You need to let me go and find someone of your own class to marry. You need to find a proper wife." Christine turned her eyes to her child, tears slipping down her cheeks. "All I ask is that you make sure she loves Isabelle. Please make sure she loves Isabelle!" Christine turned her eyes back to Raoul's stunned face. "I will take the money you left – if you agree – and go to America and disappear forever. I want you to tell Isabelle that I died shortly after she was born but that I loved her with all my heart." Christine could not stop the sob that escaped her lips. "That I loved her father with all my heart." She turned back to the bed and away from Raoul, covering her face with hands and sobbing into them.

"Christine," came the softly spoken request for attention.

She did not respond.

"Christine," Raoul tried again, "please look at me."

Christine shook her head but kept her hands over her face, unwilling to look at the world she was giving over to a happiness she felt she could not bring. She felt a strong hand touch the ones covering her face, pulling them slightly away and she let them drop but would not open her eyes. Christine felt a single finger beneath her chin, lifting her head up and still she kept her eyes closed.

"Open your eyes, Christine," Raoul asked. "Please!" he pleaded watching as Christine's eyes slowly opened. "I do not want you to go!" he exclaimed.

"But…" Christine began and was silenced by the finger placed on her lips.

"Take your daughter," Raoul said as he nodded at the child he still held. He smiled as Christine slowly lifted a sleeping Isabelle in her arms, rocking the baby slightly as Isabelle fussed. Raoul's smile softened as Isabelle grew silent, stretching as she settled into her mother's care. "This is what I want," he said gently as Christine raised her eyes to him. "I want my wife and I want my daughter. I want what I never thought I would have." Raoul placed his hands upon Christine's arms. "Neither one of us is the person we were nearly a year ago. I would like to think that we are both better people." He smiled. "I would like to find out about the woman to whom I am married." His voice softened. "I would like to spend the rest of my life finding out about her."

Christine nodded in reply, the tears still flowing down her cheeks. "I want to learn about this new man who stands before me. I, too, want what I never thought I would have; I want to spend days and nights watching you hold your daughter, watching the two of you delight in each other." She managed a tremulous smile. "I just want my family."

"We almost lost this," Raoul said. "We almost lost all that we ever wanted. We almost lost Isabelle. We almost lost each other." He drew Christine closer, holding his little family in his arms. "This is so precious, Christine," Raoul said. "Not many people get a second chance at love, at life, please do not let this slip through our grasp." Raoul leaned his head against Christine's, placing a kiss on her forehead, a hand going to rest on a sleeping Isabelle. "Please," Raoul pleaded so softly it was almost a whisper. "Please do not go. Not now. Not now."

Christine looked deeply into the eyes that were so close to her own. "I shall not go," she breathed. "I am staying."

"I love you," Raoul said as he began to plant kisses all over his wife's face. "I love you. I love you," he kept repeating.

As Isabelle slept peacefully, sheltered by the warmth of her parents' bodies, Christine could do nothing but cry.

Even as Christine cried out tears of release, tears of acceptance, another woman stood on a windswept cliff that overlooked a pounding Atlantic Ocean. Tallis, too, had tears in her eyes and they were not from the bitter winds that swept in from the ocean, blowing the hood of her cloak from her head and stinging her eyes. She stood at the edge of the cliff, her eyes glancing down to the jagged rocks below and thought back upon the last years. Tallis could hear the sound of the sea calling to her as it surged against the rocks, cold, white, salty spray flying upwards, reaching for her as it tried to draw her into the sea's eternal embrace.

"No!" Tallis screamed as she quickly wiped away her tears and clapped her hands over her ears. "I am not going to listen!"

On days when the sea was peaceful and the waves pounded lightly against the rocks, Tallis found peace as she listened to their music. Even if the sea was colored gray from the clouds overhead or black from the dark of night, there was still a peace in the gentle beating of fluid water against immovable object. But when the sea became angry, the sirens screaming with each angry thud that tried to change the landscape upon which it beat, Tallis could feel the darkness call to her and found it difficult to resist the enticing music. She wanted to answer it, to find the peace it offered in the anger.

"The beauty in your darkness," Tallis breathed as she remembered a long ago conversation held with the man who had spent a lifetime in darkness, listening to the call of the sirens who hid in the shadows. "Oh, Erik," Tallis said as she turned to look at the cottage behind her, taking several steps from the edge of the cliff and the dangerous beauty that beckoned far blow that edge. "I know now," she said to the cottage, her eyes drifting upward to the trail of smoke escaping from the chimney that Tallis knew was attached to the huge hearth in the kitchen. "I finally understand your darkness. I finally know that there is darkness in each of us." She continued to talk to the cottage as she tried to block out the call of the sea. "We need that darkness for without it, we should never know the light, the goodness that each of us possesses."

Tallis stood silently for a moment as she listened to the world around her, nodding slightly at the siren call of the sea that had been beckoning men and women to their deaths since time immemorial. "I know you," she whispered as she turned her head to look over her shoulder at the Atlantic. "I know you and you can no longer frighten me." She turned her head back, eyes closing as the sound of the siren screamed its bitter anger at defeat and faded away.

As she continued to stand still, listening to the winter world around her, a smile grew on Tallis' face. It was there, soft and melancholy, being carried along on the soft winds that swirled in from the moors beyond the cottage. The winds laughed in Tallis ear at the silence she could hear from the sea, the light in the dark. Yet on those winds Tallis could hear more than laughter; it was that tune, that soft tune that was slowly changing from a resolved sadness to a wistful happiness. Tallis began to hum with the tune that reached through her ears and directly into her heart and soul. She had heard the tune once before and knew she would never forget it. Gloved hands came out from beneath her cape to brush at the tears that had begun to steal from the corners of her eyes.

"Damn man," she whispered to herself and began to hum again, the tune implanted in her brain. "Oh, Erik," she said softly as she began to walk back to her cottage. Tallis had been repeating those words – 'Oh, Erik.' - over and over again. Now they had become her litany against the darkness, her penance for sins, her prayer for the future. The music that played in her head and in her heart grew louder with each step that Tallis took toward her new home.

Tallis stopped at the door to her cottage, leaning her head against the cold wood. "Oh, Erik," she repeated as her hand slowly opened the door, the music in her head finally growing still as a blast of warm air rushed to greet her. Tallis lifted her face up, smiling at the warmth and smiling at the sight that greeted her eyes. She crossed the room to the piano, to the man sitting there. She sat down beside him and melted into the open arms that waited for her.

"Oh, Tallis," Erik whispered.


	84. Chapter 84

**Summary:** No summaries of any type this time. Just read and enjoy. And my sincerest thanks to everyone for everything!

EPILOGUE

"Oh, Isabelle," Christine sighed in frustration as she watched her toddler run around the parlor, hiding behind furniture and giggling as her little head peaked around corners. "You must hold still for one moment!"

"Peek-a-boo!" Isabelle giggled and ran behind another chair.

Christine closed her eyes and counted to ten. "Isabelle, you know I cannot chase after you," she said as she opened her eyes. "Please come here and let me fix your hair."

"Why?" Isabelle wondered.

A beribboned floral wreath appeared in Christine's hands. "Because you get to play fairy princess this afternoon," she said, "and every princess needs a crown." Christine fought back the urge to smile triumphantly as Isabelle began to walk toward her. "You do want your crown, yes?"

"My crown," Isabelle repeated as she stopped by the chair where her mother was seated, holding out her hands.

"You must let me brush your hair first," Christine said as she placed the wreath beyond her daughter's reach.

A battle of wills ensued as Isabelle looked longingly at her "crown" and Christine looked at her daughter, a brush in her hand. Christine could see the active little mind behind Isabelle's blue eyes and knew just how stubborn her child could be; as the clock on the mantle chimed the half-hour, Christine also knew that time was growing short. She watched as Isabelle's bottom lip stuck out in a pout that was so similar to her father's and Christine knew she had won the battle.

"Thank you, my love," Christine said as Isabelle finally stood still, allowing Christine to run the brush through blonde curls that just reached the child's shoulders. "You have such pretty hair," Christine said as she put the brush down and kissed Isabelle's head.

"Crown, Maman!" Isabelle demanded.

Christine reached behind her, taking the "crown" off the back of the chair. She set it lightly upon Isabelle's head, tying ribbons into the curls so that it would not fall off. Christine was tempted to arrange the ribbons but decided to wait until they reached the chapel. Isabelle did not want to understand the meaning of the words "slow down" and Christine knew she would just have to wait to arrange the ribbons in a neat fashion. "I do not even know why I bothered to brush your hair," she sighed as she pushed herself up from the chair.

Isabelle grabbed her mother's hand. "Show, Papa!" she said and pulled her mother toward the closed parlor door.

"Yes. Let us go and show Papa," Christine agreed, allowing Isabelle to lead her. They walked through the parlor door and down the hallway toward the main foyer of Chagny. Christine placed both hands on her daughter's shoulders as they reached the corner, smiling at the face that turned up to look at her. "Be very quiet and let us surprise your father," Christine whispered.

Isabelle willingly understood the word "surprise" and smiled back at her mother.

Soon the sound of footsteps echoing off the marble floor could be heard coming down the hallway that led to the back of the chateau.

"Do you hear that?" Christine asked Isabelle.

"Papa?" Isabelle asked back.

Christine smiled and nodded. "Why do you not go and get Papa?" Christine took her hands from her daughter's shoulders. Isabelle immediately scampered off down the hallway and Christine stuck her head around the corner to watch.

"Papa! Papa! Papa!" Isabelle shouted at the top of her voice.

Christine bit back her tears as Raoul stopped in his walk down the hall and bent down, arms opening as Isabelle flung herself into them. Raoul straightened as he lifted Isabelle, kissing his daughter before Isabelle wrapped little arms about his neck and settled her head upon his shoulder. Christine sighed happily as she watched Raoul close his eyes and hug Isabelle close. It was during moments like this – with Isabelle – that the years and the anger and the fear melted away and Christine would catch a glimpse of the innocent boy her husband had once been. It was during these moments that she saw the little boy who rescued her scarf, the teenager she had disappointed by sending away. It was during moments like this that she remembered the innocent young man who had come into her dressing room that long ago night and had professed his love while the snow fell and Paris glittered at their feet. Christine was drawn from her reverie by the sound of a familiar voice speaking a name she had come to treasure.

"Where is your mother?" Raoul asked his daughter.

"Maman!" Isabelle screamed.

"Inside voice," Christine heard Raoul tell his daughter as she rounded the corner and began to walk down the hallway. She paused for a moment to reach behind her self and massage the small of her back.

"Maman slow," Isabelle stated the obvious.

"Maman has a reason," Raoul said. Christine could see his eyes twinkle as she approached, stopping by his side. Raoul settled his daughter into one arm and reached out to touch the swell beneath Christine's blue gown, laughing at the responding kick he received.

"Definitely a boy," Christine grimaced.

"Definitely?" Raoul asked, as he raised an eyebrow at his wife.

"We will know in about three months," Christine replied and reached in for a kiss.

"Kisses!" Isabelle screamed.

"Will she ever learn to talk in a normal tone?" Christine wondered as she drew back from the kiss, turning to smile at her first born.

Isabelle ignored her mother and turned to her father. "Kisses for baby!"

"Always happy to oblige my princess," Raoul laughed as he touched a hand to his lips before touching it lightly to his new child and then wrapping his arm about his wife's shoulders, drawing her close. Raoul kissed Christine's carefully coifed hair and whispered in her ear, "My family."

Christine settled her head upon Raoul's shoulder for a moment. "Always yours," she whispered before straightening. "We really should be going."

Raoul nodded. "Walk?" he asked Christine who nodded and then he looked at the child in his arms. "If we walk, will you behave?"

Isabelle tightened her arms about her father's neck and kissed his cheek. "Carry me," she said, at twenty-seven months old, she all ready knew how to get around her father. Raoul would not stand a chance, as she grew older.

It took but a few minutes to cross the greening lawns from chateau to the ancient family chapel. All around were signs that winter was gone and spring was arriving. Snowdrops and crocuses peeked their colorful heads out from the grass that had been buried during the cold winter months. Birds twittered in trees whose branches were covered with pale green buds. Among the newly green trees were splashes of color as dogwood and fruit trees began to blossom in white and pale pinks. Overhead the sun was shining brightly, bringing unseasonable warmth to the day as fluffy white clouds drifted along carried by a gentle breeze. Christine felt her hand being lightly squeezed and she turned to smile reassuringly at the man next to her as they approached the chapel whose doors were all ready opened for family and friends.

"I have one stop to make," Raoul said, as his eyes turned toward the stone crypt at the top of the small hill behind the chapel. He turned his attention to Isabelle. "I am going to put you down and I want you to take Maman's hand, yes?"

"Yes, Papa," Isabelle replied.

"That is my princess," Raoul said softly as he kissed his daughter before placing her down. He waited until Isabelle had taken her mother's hand before walking toward the crypt.

"Me go, too?" Isabelle wondered.

"Not this time," Christine answered her softly, resting her free hand atop her daughter's head. She watched as Raoul stopped before the door to the crypt, bowing his head in prayer, reaching out his hand to rest against the cool iron. Christine shook her head, chasing away the memories of a day when she had done the same thing.

"Why?" Isabelle wanted to know.

"Because in that place is a very special…" Christine knew she had to chose her words carefully. "In that place rests a very special spirit who once helped your Papa when no one else would."

Isabelle turned her head up to look at her mother. "Fairy?"

Christine looked at her daughter and nodded. "Yes," she replied as her gaze drifted to Raoul's "fairy bench" that still sat outside the crypt where Edouard Durant slept in eternal peace. "He was a very brave fairy prince." Christine offered up a silent prayer of thanksgiving for the man who had offered a bit of kindness to her husband in the midst of a nightmare and died in his place. She thought of Edouard's family, their grief at his loss, their gratitude in sorrow that there was still some good in their son and brother. Christine thought of the trust fund that Philippe had set up for them, his way of repaying them for all that Edouard had done, and knew that Edouard's family would never want for anything ever again. Christine willed back the anger that simmered in the deepest part of her heart and found the strength to offer up a brief prayer for the souls of the two men who had been hung for their part in what had been done to Raoul. Yet there were two men for whom Christine would never be able to find the strength to pray – Nico, now locked in the darkest corner of an asylum, for his senseless cruelty, from which Raoul would bear scars until his dying day. The other man rested in a barely marked grave in an isolated corner of his family's ancestral estate and – as a single hand caressed Isabelle's head – Christine hoped that Xavier was burning in Hell. She was drawn from her reverie by a gentle touch on her cheek and looked to see Raoul smiling softly at her.

"None of that," he told her, as he shook his head. "Not today. Today is a day of celebration."

"Fairy princess, Maman!" Isabelle stated as she tugged at her mother's hand; she had been good for as long as a toddler could be expected.

"Then let us waste no more time," Christine laughed as Raoul took their daughter's other hand and they walked back to the chapel and into the front door. Christine turned her cheek for a kiss as they paused in the vestibule. "I will see you in a few moments," she told Raoul and smiled as he disappeared into the chapel. Christine began to arrange the ribbons in a fidgety Isabelle's hair when a she heard a voice from behind her.

"I suppose it is about time," the voice said with a huge sigh.

"It is long since past time," Christine said with a smile as she turned around, the smile softening. "You look beautiful, Monique." She watched as Monique looked down at the light purple gown that matched her eyes. Christine wanted to cry as she took note of all the new gray hair that softened Monique's black tresses; the woman before her had aged so much over the last two and a half years.

Monique raised her head. "I did not wish to overdo," she paused and swallowed, "considering the circumstances."

Christine looked at the gown whose elegant simplicity bespoke an expense that few could afford. "I think it is lovely and perfect." Christine smiled at Monique, hoping to chase away last minute fears, last minute doubts. "I think that Philippe will find it perfect." Her smile softened. "I think he will find you as lovely as he has always found you."

"Fairy princess!" Isabelle demanded.

"I think we have just been told," Monique laughed as she looked at Isabelle who was bouncing on her toes. She turned back to Christine. "Thank you for standing with me this day." Monique sighed and cast down her eyes. "After everything that…"

"Raoul told me there will be none of that on this day of celebration," Christine said as she reached out to take Monique's hand. "None," she repeated and let go of Monique's hand. "Now it is time to go and find your future."

Monique blushed and dropped her eyes. "Yes, please."

Isabelle began to jump up and down. "Fairy princess! Fairy princess!"

"Who must walk quietly next to her maman," Christine told her daughter.

Isabelle quieted down as she walked with her mother to the closed doors that led to the chapel. Christine opened them and began to walk down the aisle. A brief thought passed through her mind that this walk was so different from the last walk and yet Raoul still waited at the end of the aisle. Yet this time he was smiling as he stood next to his brother - Philippe's smile small and warm and confident. Christine took her eyes from her husband to look at the small group of people gathered at the front of the family chapel. She smiled at Didier and his new bride, Solange, only recently returned from their own honeymoon and ready to reopen Cote de Vallee. Henri stood next to them, near the aisle as he waited to take Isabelle from her mother's hands. It was a very small, very select group of people to whom Christine would entrust her daughter's care and the fun loving Henri was at the top of that list. His actions on that fateful night, that fact that he save Raoul's life, earned Henri her love and respect; even Philippe's incredulous temper had finally faded away.

As Christine reached the end of the aisle, Isabelle happily went into the open arms of her Uncle Henri, allowing Christine to step to the altar. As Monique finished her walk down the aisle, Christine turned to see Henri's parents in the pew behind were Philippe and Raoul stood. She smiled at them, seeing their hands clasped and turned to the couple next to them. Meg's smile was radiant as she returned the one Christine gave her and turned to look at her husband. Meg's hand caressed the little boy with brown hair held in his father's arms. Val sighed as he hugged Gregory close, taking Meg's hand, both of them knowing that after the ceremony Gregory and Isabelle would run off their energy until both toddlers fell fast asleep.

Finally Monique reached the altar railing, taking the hand that Philippe held out to her. Christine watched as Philippe raised that hand to his lips before turning his head to the priest who was dressed in white robes instead of black as he had been the last time. Standing next to the priest, serving as his assistant, a very proud smile on his face, stood Philippe's friend and aide, Arthur Weldon. Father Navarre Deveral turned to smile at Arthur before returning his attention to those looking expectantly at him. He smiled at the people in the front pews, at Christine and at Raoul before turning to the man and woman who only had eyes for each other.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here this day," Father Deveral began, "to join this man," he looked at Philippe and turned to Monique, "and this woman in Holy Matrimony." His words echoed joyously about the family chapel, joining lives that had been put on hold for over twenty years, finally putting to rest the histories that had brought everyone to the sunny chapel on that spring day.

And while the toddlers raced around after each and the adults celebrated into the night, long after the new Comte and Comtess had left for Spain and Portugal, the grandmother of one of the toddlers stretched and yawned. She gazed at the grandfather's clock that ticked peacefully in a corner of the huge living room.

"Tired, old friend?" Erik asked as he looked up from his latest composition.

"Yes," Antoinette replied as she rose from her seat. "And do not ever call me old again," she finished.

"I shall try not to forget," Erik replied, turning back to the music sheets on the piano, a smirk on his face that he knew Antoinette could not see.

"And take that smirk from your face," Antoinette told him.

Erik rested his arms atop the piano and placed his head upon them. "How do women do those things!" he exclaimed, his voice edgy, tired and frustrated.

Antoinette took pity upon him and walked over, placing her hands upon his shoulders. "It is a gift that is given with the birth of a child. Mothers must always have eyes in the back of their heads in order to keep their children out of trouble." She smiled as Erik looked at her over his shoulder. "You used to have those same eyes, you know. You knew everything that went on in the opera house."

"I, too, am getting old," Erik said as he swiveled on the piano bench, turning so that he could face Antoinette. "And yet it is Tallis who is sound asleep while we old people stay up with the night."

"She has reason to sleep," Antoinette reminded him gently, a frown creasing her features. "Are you expecting Serge and Ilse this year? It will be very hard if they come and bring their entire family with them."

Erik shook his head. "No, not this year; Tallis had a telegram from them late last week. Yet they say some of their family may come. Tallis' cousin, Moira has said she will take over the housekeeping duties should anyone come to the great house." He shook his head. "They have been very good to us," Erik finished softly, his thoughts drifting back over the last two years, the thanks – once again – rising in his breast.

Erik and Tallis had found peace at Trevinny's estate cottage. They were left to themselves for the entire year, save for the hot summer months when Serge and Ilse would arrive, family tagging along behind. Yet no one came to the cottage, save for Trevinny's master and mistress. Erik and Tallis were left to themselves, rebuilding the bridges that they had burned, truly discovering each other for the very first time. And Erik found a patron in Serge who discovered through his cousin, Val, the beauty that was capable of flowing from Erik's hands. As Erik's music began to be well received, Serge kept his peace about who it was that composed such beautiful creations. Serge would only say that the composer enjoyed his solitude and wished to remain anonymous. Yet Serge's patronage afforded Erik a chance to truly, forever and honestly leave his solitude behind him. Come August, it would be two years since Erik and Tallis stood before a priest in the gardens at Trevinny and joined their lives together as one. It had been a small gathering, witnessed only by the closest of family and friends but it represented a fresh start for them both. It was a chance for them to leave old dreams behind and create new ones together.

"You are quite fortunate that your wife has family so close by," Antoinette told Erik.

"And what of you?" Erik wondered as he lifted his head. "What word from Meg and Val?"

"None," Antoinette said and shrugged her shoulders. "I did not expect any. They were going to Chagny for the wedding and were planning to spend several weeks there, allowing Isabelle and Gregory to run rampant over the countryside." Antoinette chuckled at the image of her grandson being chased by a little girl.

"Children," Erik grumped. "Damnable noisy little things."

"Did you not know Christine was expecting again?" Antoinette wondered, knowing that Erik would never willingly voice his curiosity about his former angel.

Erik sighed and rose to his feet. "I am happy for her, then," he replied. "I hope she and her husband are surrounded by many children."

Antoinette stared at the man in front of her for a long moment. "I do believe you have finally grown up," she said softly.

"It happens to even the worst of us," Erik admitted, a half-smile curling his lips.

It took a moment but then Antoinette was laughing delightedly and taking Erik into her arms. "Even the worst of you," she repeated before drawing back. "I must really go to bed now for I have a feeling I shall need to up early."

"You will never know how grateful we are that you are here," Erik told her, placing a kiss upon Antoinette's cheek. "Good night and sleep well, my dear."

But sleep would be an elusive thing for Erik to find that night. He was snuggled under the soft wool blankets that had been a wedding present from Tallis' cousins, his wife wrapped in his arms, his latest composition playing through his dreams. Erik was between sleep and wakefulness, his thoughts telling him to remember the notes that danced in his mind when suddenly a loud jarring sound chased away the notes, startling him from his sleep. He looked around nervously, his eyes settling on the back of his wife's head, her brown hair tangled from tossing and turning. Erik placed a kiss on that head and carefully slipped his arms from about Tallis. He rolled over, his eyes never leaving his wife and got out of bed. Certain that Tallis had not awakened, Erik walked over to the hearth where a low fire glowed in the dark night. He looked down at the thing that had been disrupting his sleep for the last month.

"Now what is your problem?" Erik asked his son.

The baby only screwed up his little face and let out a shriek.

"Shh!" Erik ordered his son, placing a finger against the baby's lips. It did no good as the baby continued to cry. "Your mother certainly named you correctly, Gabriel – you have the voice of a trumpet!" Erik's foot reached out and the cradle began to rock slowly back and forth. As the baby stopped crying, Erik took a moment to look at his son.

Gabriel had a head full of dark hair and pale blue eyes that Erik was certain would turn to gray just like his mother's. The infant was long and had his father's hands. Erik thought that with any kind of luck, Gabriel would eventually eschew the trumpet he had been born with for the gentler sounds of the piano. Yet Erik's heart dropped a bit as he noticed the scarring just below his son's hairline that extended toward his ear. He had hoped and prayed for a perfect child but even that was denied him. Tallis did not seem to mind and had to constantly tell him that Gabriel's hair would eventually hide the deformity. Erik sighed and knew that his wife would lose her patience with him again if she could hear his thoughts. Erik was drawn back to reality as Gabriel started to fuss again.

"Will you be quiet!" Erik ordered the four-week old infant.

"Will you just pick him up and bring him over here," a tired voice ordered him.

"But he is doing that thing with his lips again!" Erik said as he turned toward the bed to see Tallis sitting up and wiping the sleep from her eyes.

"What thing?" Tallis wondered around a yawn.

"That thing," Erik said and moved his bottom lip in and out.

Tallis slammed her hands on the bed. "Oh for the love of God, Erik!" she exclaimed. "Your son is hungry again! Just pick him up and bring him to me."

Erik turned back to eye the little creature in the cradle warily. He heard a voice that was becomingly extremely agitated.

"Erik, if you do not pick Gabriel up this instant and bring him to me I swear you are going to be sleeping on the moors!" Tallis warned. "I do not want to listen to my child scream with hunger!"

"Damn noisy little thing," Erik said as he bent over and lifted his son from the cradle. Yet Erik felt a sense of power rush through him as Gabriel quieted down the instant he was in his father's arms. Erik carried his son to the bed and gratefully handed him into the waiting arms of his mother.

"Stop that," Tallis told him as she settled Gabriel at her breast, Erik sitting down at her side, eyeing his son.

"Those used to belong to me," Erik whispered at the baby who only had eyes for his mother.

Tallis smiled sweetly but kept her eyes locked with those of her son. "And if you do not stop acting like a jealous lover, they will never belong to you again." She turned briefly to look at her husband. "Do I make myself perfectly clear?" Tallis asked before turning back to her son.

"Annoying little interloper," Erik muttered.

"You still have a few more weeks to wait," Tallis said softly, a wicked grin crossing her face. "I can always ask the doctor to make it several more weeks after that."

Erik leaned toward his wife. "And I can make you wait longer than that," he whispered evilly but a hand reached out to caress his son's long legs.

"Erik," Tallis sighed. "Why must we do this every night? Why can you not just admit that you love your son?"

Soft, suckling noises were the only sound in the bedroom for a long moment.

"Because I am afraid," Erik admitted and sighed, still caressing the baby that his wife cradled. "I am afraid that I will not be a good father. I am afraid I will make horrible mistakes and Gabriel will turn out like me." His hand reached for the baby's head. "I am afraid of what the world will think of him." Erik took his hand back and hung his head. "I am afraid of what he will think of me."

Tallis detached her son, moving her shift closed and raising Gabriel to her shoulder, patting his back lightly. Then she turned to her husband and held out their child. "Take him," she ordered.

Erik frowned at her but took Gabriel in his arms. The baby yawned, his mouth opening wide, and stretched. Erik watched Gabriel's eyes look at him, studying him, as they slowly blinked closed.

"I have been around babies most of my life," Tallis began, placing a hand on her son's chest. "I know when a baby is uncomfortable around a person."

Erik turned toward Tallis, seeing her huge smile in the light from the hearth.

"Gabriel is so content when he is in your arms," Tallis told him. "All he wants is for you to love him and teach him and be his guide and wisdom in a world he cannot yet even begin to understand." Tallis rested her head upon Erik's shoulder. "And you and I shall learn from him. We will be able to watch the world through his eyes." She snuggled closer to her husband. "You shall be able to live the childhood you never had with your son."

Erik wrapped an arm about his wife.

"We have a whole new world before us," Tallis said softly, listening to the gently breathing of the two men she loved. "There is so much joy and so much love and all we have to do is reach out and grasp it and never let it go!" she finished.

Erik leaned over, seeking and finding his wife's lips. "I do love him," he whispered, "even if he does frighten me beyond words."

"My big brave Phantom," Tallis laughed softly. "I love you."

"And I love you," Erik said, another kiss finding his lips, before he turned back to admire and love his son.

_The End_


End file.
